Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Prologue

Eloïse Kerrigan returns to her childhood home to find it already populated, without her knowledge, and without her consent.

She is not amused.

(She’s also a miser with a moral compass, and that saves six lives.)

~(0)~

The air was crisp and fresh as Eloïse walked through the forest, relishing in the calmness of forest after dark. She has arrived in the town earlier that day and, after a brief bout of tourism, turned towards her destination—the Kerrigan Estate. She grew up in that place, and despite the fact that she took a long sabbatical shortly after her parents death and hasn’t visited it once, she yearned to return to her childhood home. She didn’t worry about the dilapidation, there were measures set in place to prevent that.

She enjoyed the cold autumn evening in the forest that many would find creepy, surrounded by whispering of the wind and an odd hoot from an owl. It was tranquil, natural, and relaxing. The leaves, crisp with cold, crunched under her boots, and her knitted woolen scarf protected her easily from an odd bout of wind between the trees.

Odd as it would seem for a bystander, she didn’t have any luggage with her, save for a small handbag. Eloïse didn’t find it odd at all, and there were no bystanders in the forest.

She took a deep breath as the trees began to thin, heralding a clearing upon which she knew Kerrigan Estate was built hundreds of years ago my her many-times-great-grandparents. He played in these woods a lot as a child, and they hadn’t changed much, despite the time that has passed. Whether it was the nature of the house itself or the respect the nature had for the house, she wasn’t sure, but didn’t complain.

Last few steps, last few turns-

There it was, in all its Victorian glory, overgrown with ivy, a house exactly like the one in child-Eloïse’s memories. She almost choked.

God, it was so long.

She sighed, hastening her steps, to make it there quicker, up the familiar narrow pavement, up the loose cobblestone stairs, through the squeaking black gate that nobody has ever bothered to oil properly as long as it stood, forward between father’s brown roses, through the oaken with a worn-out, brass wolf knocker—

Eloïse stopped the second she stepped inside. She closed her eyes, took a breath, instantly on alert, searching for—something.

Something was wrong. She knew this house intimately, could almost hear it speak to her, and something was wrong—

Oh. There, Eloïse, in the library, a presence, and another, upstairs, and then in the attic, and—

She reached her senses out farther and farther into the bowels of the house, past the hidden trapdoor child-Eloïse wasn’t allowed down, searching for the wardstone she knew was there, she knew should have been there—only to find it missing. An oddest thing, because the only time she’s ever been allowed down that trapdoor was with her mother to calibrate and place the stone. She saw it placed, helped place it, and now it was gone.

And the only other person allowed to enter the Manor was her teacher, who was also a smug bitch with agenda nobody understood. Which explained everything, Eloïse supposed, because if there was someone that was an asshole enough to let strays invade Eloïse’s ancestral home, it was without a doubt Baba.

There was a murmur of a presence on the ground floor with her, and in the library, and upstairs, and more. She counted six, thrumming in a very distinctly not-human way. Wonderful. She pushes that problem into the back of her mind—it can wait a few minutes. Instead, she turns to the stairs and up, fourth step sings under her feet, and she can’t help but step on it again giddily, seventh croaks and she winces, because she always forgot that one.

The rooms were exactly where she remembered them being, in the exact same floor plan she could navigate with closed eyes as a child. It’s been years, but maybe she could still. The doors, she was pleased to find, were the same beveled and sculpted oaken slabs. The rooms behind them, however, Eloïse wasn’t certain of. For now, she’d have to hope that the vermin currently infesting her house has not damaged her ancestral home—the whole building was an antique in a way, and restoration would be a pain.

It was her grandmama’s legacy after all, dating all the way back to early 1800s. If something was changed, Eloïse could just rally antique conservationists and they would, in their righteous rage, fix everything right back up.

But that’s neither here nor there. Yet.

If the old journals of her parents—particularly her father’s research notes, because those weren’t put in the basement—were lost, Eloïse would be particularly unhappy, however. What she remembered of her father painted him as an alchemical genius, and everyone always told her she inherited his talents. Now that she learned all she could on her own, his notes would aid her greatly.

As Eloïse calmly strolled through the hallway, a shiver ran down her spine.

Ah, it would seem they crawled out.

Eloïse headed downstairs, slowly, down the creaking step and the singing step, until she reached the main hall. Sure enough, a man was there, tall, with a mane of wavy dark-purple hair, and wearing nothing but a white pajama.

Oi, oi, ain’t ye gettin’ a wee bit fookin’ cozy in me house?

“Hey, who are you?” he asks, and Eloïse blinks at the audacity of him. He disregards her, though, calling out; “Vladimir, some chick’s walking down the main staircase!”

Eloïse could feel the vein pop throughout the entire length of the right side of her neck and cheek. Don’t blow them up, she thought to herself over and over again, it’s not worth it.

Another one comes out of where Eloïse is fairly certain she remembers library being, this time in golden out-of-date smock and an blindfold across his eyes.

“You could show a bit of respect!” he scolds the pajama-clad asshole, and Eloïse silently thanks the heavens that at least one of them seems to have some working braincells that did not undergo necrosis. “I can understand why she’s hiding. You must have scared her. Please don’t run off, young lady…”

Or not.

A'm standin richt fookin ‘ere ye arsehole.

Ah, slipping into thick Scottish now, as always, with anger. She didn’t doubt that if she started speaking now, she’d also use proper Scottish slang that she could bet money the quasi-immortal bloodsuckers would have trouble understanding.

Oh, papa, papa, why did you teach me to cuss in Scots.

Eloïse gently massages her temples with one hand, supporting herself with the other on the railing, letting the vampires bicker. Another one emerges, this time a willowy-looking blonde in Victorian suit. This must be Vladimir, Eloïse concludes, from how he scolds the pajama-clad moron, who she learns is named Beliath. She lets them bicker—not the first time someone wandered into the manor and isn’t that the red flag—as they seem to completely ignore her. Eloïse lets them, more interested in listening to the bloodsuckers literally infesting her mansion before kicking them out.

Because she was going to. Current residents or not, they’re illegal squatters and she doubts they’re even registered with the local Committee branch, which is an absolute must with Class A Dangerous Creatures living this close to a populated town. Eloïse hopes she can do away without actually killing them, too—which she should do, if they’re unregistered, despite her strong dislike of destroying creatures with cognitive ability.

However limited said cognitive capability wouldn’t appear to be.

And then Vladimir calls her an intruder, and Eloïse barks out a sharp bout of laughter, loud enough to return their attention to her.

“Funny, how things are,” she says, voice amused but with an edge to it, “that you’d have a gall to call me an intruder.”

“Pardon?” the blonde—Vladimir, but should she even bother remembering?—asks.

“Let’s start with introductions then, shall we? I’ll even go first—my name is Eloïse Kerrigan, your landlord, apparently, though not by my choice nor with my prior knowledge, and I’d like to know one thing; where the fuck is my money, you useless squatters?”

They look at her dumbly for a moment, while Eloïse just stands there, arms crossed on her chest and her best ‘I’m better than you and disappointed’ face on. The pajama-clad moron snorts, and moves to speak, but she cuts him off before he even can.

“Now, I don’t quite need you to introduce yourselves. I won’t even remember your names, I’d assume. After all, you’re all going upstairs now to pack your things and leave, no?”

“Uhhh… No?” the pajama-clad moron says with amusement shining in his eyes. Eloïse looks at him, very unamused herself.

“In case you’re even less adapt at thinking than you make it seem, that wasn’t a question,” she says, not bothering to stop an eyeroll. “Now, how many of you are here?”

“Six,” the willowy blonde answers, as if expecting that to somewhat scare her. “Also, you can’t just come in here and tell us to pack out bags, we live here-“

Eloïse snaps her fingers instead of answering and, in a flash of flame an outdated-looking scroll appears, and unfurls showcasing a Title Deed, complete with a wax seal and signatures of all previous owners—all Kerrigans before Eloïse—and everything else. The thing thrums with magic.

The one in the blindfold must have sensed it, because he gasps.

“You’re a witch,” he says.

“I am. And you are Class A’s trespassing on a Witch’s Dwelling, of which the Title Deed I have just pulled out,” she answers. “Do you know what that means?”

“Raphael?” pajama-clad moron asks, as the willowy blonde frowns.

“It- It means that, even if we were Registered, she has every right to kill us on the spot,” the blindfolded one answers with a grimace.

“And you’re not registered?” she presses on, and he fidgets.

“No,” is the answer that eventually comes, and Eloïse wants to bang her head on the wall.

“What the hell?” someone asks from the stairs, and Eloïse turns to see a pale, asshole-looking Jack Frost knockoff, followed by a tall, tanned man who looks like he has more sense than just two braincells rubbing off of one another. “What Title Deed? Registered to what? Who are you?”

“Eloïse Kerrigan, owner of the house,” she answers flatly. “And you’re unregistered Vampires trespassing a Witch’s Dwelling. In the eyes of law, it’s double death sentence.”

“What the fuck? Nobody ever told me that!” the pale asshole argues.

“It’s the duty of the one who turned you, and not my problem,” Eloïse shrugs. “It’s been in effect since Dracula’s uprising in late fourteen-hundreds!”

The tall, tanned man winces. “I think I’m actually registered,” he says carefully. “But I haven’t been in the Office for years now, so-“

“So you didn’t turn in a Plea of Renewal. I suppose you didn’t think to inform them of your change of whereabouts either?”

“We didn’t exactly have a landlord,” he says with a wince. “And none of us owns the house.”

“So you preferred to let your Registration expire and trespass in peace?”

He turns his head away, and it’s answer enough. It would have been very comfortable, indeed, if any and all owners of the house were dead or didn’t claim the property, and even if they did, the vampires probably thought they could easily deal with a human owner.

Only two of them seemed to know what the punishment for trespassing a Witch’s Dwelling—especially one so saturated with magic and tradition, not to mention built on a intersection of ley lines—even was in the first place, and the rest seemed blissfully unaware, or blissfully ignorant, of seemingly all the laws that, despite their ignorance, still dictated whether they were allowed to live or set for extermination.

After Dracula’s Uprising in late 1400s, vampires were put under high scrutiny, and for a good reason. Nobody liked crazy and powerful magical creatures attempting to seize control over the whole world in order to turn it into a feeding ground.

Therefore, Draculean Laws were put in place to vampires’ chagrin and relief of all other occult races, and that was that.

“We had no idea we were trespassing a Witch’s Dwelling,” the blindfolded one says softly and apologetically. The willowy blonde glances at him in surprise, and then turns to Eloïse.

“Look, I don’t care for the so-called laws I’ve never heard of-“

“Vladimir!” the tanned one snaps, and the blonde shuts up. “There is much more to the world we live in than you possibly imagine, or care to learn! Just because you all are content to live in a bubble of unawareness, doesn’t mean we’re all ignorant to the laws! We’ve grown complacent, yes, and it’s probably my fault—I should have dragged you all to be registered, even if it would have turned out we were trespassing a place like that. But no, I was content to just live somewhere not far from a city, and—God. There’s just so many laws—I can’t believe I—just how many laws have we broken in our complacent idiocy?” he asks, horrified.

“How do you feed?” Eloïse questions.

“I don’t know how that’s even important!” pajama-clad moron rears his ugly head again. “Is nobody going to acknowledge that she knows who we are?”

“Beliath, shut up!” the blindfolded one snaps, more out of panic than actual irritation. “You’re one of the oldest here, you should know what she’s talking about!”

“We bite people and then make them forget,” the tanned one answers her anyway. “We don’t kill, though. We make sure we don’t. We wipe their memories after.”

“So you attack people all willy-nilly and then use internationally banned mind magic to be rid of the evidence?!” Eloïse snarls, and he turns his head in shame as her hackles rise up. “Feeding on people without killing them, that you could spin in your favor and get scoot-free off of, but mind magic? Nobody is allowed to use mind magic without a really damn good reason, not just you, you special, fucking, bloodsucking snowflakes! It’s not even Draculean Laws you broke with it, it’s the International Statutory Law!”

By gods, Eloïse wanted to rip her hair straight out of her scalp. The ignorance of these bloodsuckers, while blissful up until now to them, was causing a potential mess of incredibly epic proportions. Draculean Laws were one thing, Trespassing of her house was another, she could, maybe, let go of those, but—breaking of International Laws? As a repeated offense?

Could she even, in her right mind, kick them out now? Let them go, and not kill them outright? Or at least bring them to the Office, even if it would have meant even more certain death than by her hands?

She just wanted to curl up and cry, honestly.

Gods fucking damn her bleeding heart and unwillingness to kill, but may it never be mistaken for inability. She wasn’t necessarily unwilling to kill either—just so very tired of it.

“Look, lady, we don’t even know these laws!” the pale asshole argues, and Eloïse smothers an urge to throw a lamp at him.

“Ignorantia legis neminem excusat, boy,” is all she has to say in return. “You must have came in here good few years after I went to the Academy, otherwise the residual presence would have kicked the magic into high gear and obliterated you on the spot, since you were uninvited. And since you were able to find this place to begin with, someone must have taken the wards down, and there’s only one person who actually can do that outside of me—what the fuck are you plotting, auntie?” Eloïse hisses, looking skyward as if for answers, but all she sees is the tiled Victorian ceiling.

~ k̽́̅͡i̋̊̒͞l̑̂̕l̃̓͠ t̛̒h͑̔͝e̽̃͞m҇̒̽ ~ William hisses straight into her cerebrum, and Eloïse closes her eyes, listening to the demonic yet soothing voice of her familiar. ~k̽́̅͡i̋̊̒͞l̑̂̕l̃̓͠ t̛̒h͑̔͝e̽̃͞m҇̒̽ a̒͛͗̂̿͞l҇͛͊͌l̛̈́̈͊͌͐,̓̅̒̊̒͞ ẗ͗̋̆̈́͝h͊̄̂͡ē̚͠y͐̈́͠ d͊͋͛̚͡e͂̒͛͞ṥ̔̽̕e̓́͛̕ȑ͛͞v̛̅̔e͊͊͌̎̇̕ i̍͞t҇͒͂̏ â̿̓̕n͐͂̆̐͞d̛̽̂̒̐̚ ẏ̏̋͠o͌̈́̈́͡u̓͒̄͠ s҇̈̆͊̈́̚h͛͆̏͋͝o̾͊͞u͌͒̓̑͠l͛̑͞d̒̚͡ñ̇̏͠'͛̎̆̔̽͞t̿̄̾̔̕ b̈́̄̔̐͡e̎̋̑̕ ḋ̿̎͠ẽ̈́͞a͊̈̏̚͝l̈́̐̒͝i̒̓̒͡n̍͂͂̒͒͝g̊̅͛̾͡ w͛́͆͂͠ǐ̛̋̔t̛̃͋̀h̀̂͛̆͊͡ t̾̚͡h҇͊̐̚i͑̿͡s͂̇̐̆͠ m͐͌̌͠e̿̔̑͒̂͞s͒͗͗͝s̛͒͆̎̈

~I really should, shouldn’t I?~ she sends back, and gets a humming agreement as her only response.

~t̛͌̅̅͊h҇̓̐͊e̒̽̽̏͞ý͊͒͛̕ r҇̆̆̎̀ë́͛͌̈͋͞ḕ̎̕k̛̿̉̉ ỏ̄͑͠f͆̎͠ ď̓̕ë́̓̑͛͡a҇͋̃͗̓̔ṫ̽̒͞h̔̀͞,҇͐̈́̏̊ Ì́͗̐̂͝ d͐̕ò͐͋̑͡n̂̒̅̚͠'͑̈͊̏͡t̍͊͞ d͆̊̐̌͠ȍ͐͡u͊̅̕b̈́̊͠t͊̒̂͡ t̛̽̋̚h̓̅̒͠ē͗͠ẙ͋͐͡ k̒̒͑̕i̎͛͞l̛͗̍̉l̛͗͛̐ĕ̊͡d̛̃̓̄̓ b̍͌̅͂͡e̍̕̚f҇̇͌̎͐ơ̈̓̚ȓ̄̄͡e҇̂́̔,̉͐͡ ả͒̂̚͞n͆͒̈́̌̓͠d̓̓̕ k̛̂̋͑̄i҇̅l̈́̀͋͞l͑̃͞e̒̍͞d̋̅̊͊̉̕ m̈́̒͠a̛̎̅̿̓n̛̎͗͐y҇̄̔.̈́͐͐̕ d͂̾̕ȏ̽̐̈́̓͞ w҇̾͆ơ͐́̈́͑͛r̅͐̇̚͠l͌̔̋̃̕d͆̈̊͡ á̽̆̚͞ f҇͂̈́a̒͡v͑̾̑̉͡o҇̆̆̓r̅͂̃̒̈͠,̇͞ M҇͗̃͛͐̃i̿͒͑͊̑͝s̈͐͑̐̕t̾̔͑͆̕r҇̉̉e̓͌̉̾͆͡š̈́͞s҇̍̂͋̋-̃̅͋̍͞-̓̎͛͠d̛̋̇̆ớ́ y҇̎o͑͆̓͞ǔ̃̏̃͠r̓̒͋͞s̃̓̾͞ȇ̍͛̕l͆̋͡f͒͑̍̏̃͡ a̛̾̔̔͊̀ f̒̑̇͠a̋̉͊͑͝v̋́̀̋͡o̔̌̕r̐̂͝.̾̋́̏͠ I̛͗̔̽͗ s̄̄̒́̄͝h̐͂͝ä́̿̒́͝l҇̃̅̚l̓͋͝ d҇̇́̓e̛͒͐̽̈͂v҇̂̇̈̀̚ō̌͡u҇̔̏̇r̆̽̄͒͂͡ t̔̈́͞h̿̈̾̄̕e҇̐i̛̍̄͐r̈̅͒̈́͠ b҇̑̒̌̏̚o҇̎̎͑d̏̂͑͞i̛̊͑͑̉̎e҇͌̊s̾̎̽͝ a҇͗̏̀̒n̂͊́͠ď̛̀̃ w͑̑͠e͌̽͊̓̕ w̆̂̓͡i͊͑̂̿͌͠l̎̿͗͂͒͞l҇̈́̌ f̈͋͆̾͞o̓͌͛̒͞r̽̑͋͠g̑̏͛̒͞e̿̉̽͑͞t̔͆̔͞ o҇͂͆f́̌̒́͡ t̉̐̉͆͝h̛̀̀͒i҇̾̇͗s̃͐̃̄̎͞ i̒͐̑́̽͠n̛͑̈́c̈̄̾̏͊͞î́̐͝d̛͋̑̆̓e̾̇̀͡n҇̎̑̍͂t̛̏͊͐

~But if it really is Baba Yaga who’s behind this? She’s literally the only person alive I don’t want to piss off. She had to have a reason to let vampires infest our ancestral home, no?~ Eloïse asks hopefully, more the world than William.

~B̀͋̈͝ä̛͒b̛̌̔͋a͂̉͛̆͝ Ỳ͑͌͡a̾͋̒͠g̽̈́͂̿͡ä̾͋̒͡ w̛̍̒̏̅i͑̆͋̚͠l̈́͆͠l̍̈͡ b̏͆̾͝e͂̿̒̕ ȁ̛͐͋m̛̃͊͗u͐̊͌͠s̛̅̌̾e̐̆͠d̄̓̐̇̽̕ a͑̾̾͡t҇̿͋ w͛̇̌͞ó̊̑̕r̓̓̾̊̈́͞s̓̆̌͡t̛͐̑.͐̏̆͠ Ẏ̾͋̓̐͝o̾̄͂͡ú̎̓͞ k̊̓̇̅͡n̽̆̀̂̆͡o҇͗͊̓w̛̆̄ h̽̎͡o̊̃̅͝w͑̂͝ s͂̈́͡h̛͆͊̂̋̉e̛͋ i͗̆̐͛̆̕s҇͋̏,̄̐̒͝ a̛͗̔̓̍̇l̛̄̓̌̔̌l̾͂̚͞ s̛͑͑m҇͆ȕ͂̾͞g҇͋̅͋ ȃ́͞n͋͆̕d̽̃̕ m̄͒͞i͛̄͠g҇͌̎̂͗h̛̊͑͌̐̚t̔̒̆͡y̛͌͑̔̃͌,̆̏̽̕̚̚ a͊̉͡l҇̄̿̌̂̽w̆̇̏̈̚͠à̉̃̊͋̕ỳ̛̊̆̍s̛̆̋̓̈́.̑̿͝ s҇͐͗̆̽h̛̉̀̇e̛̓̿ r҇̊̈́͒e҇͐̈̆e̛͗̓̚ḱ̛͆͊s̔̊̚͝ ō̾͡f̎̅̃͞ p̈̑̈͠o͛͆̈̎̅͝w҇̀͛̅͂e̋̓̽̏̅͝r̓̌͞,̓̾͂͝ b̋̓̀̉͠u҇̔͗̑̊͑t̓͋̓͞ s͒͗͆̎͂͡h̃͌̑͠e͐͗͠ h͊͑͊͝a̋̍̒̽̕r̛̽̂d̆͛̓͝l̽̌͑͞y͂̔͠ í̊͒͞ǹ̓͠t̆̎̑̕̚e҇̀͌̉r҇͌̏f̊͛̓̓͡e̛͊̔̚r̛̈́̆̑e҇͑̚s͂̏͐͐͝ n̾̈̚͝ơ̌̉̄̌̿w͆̈̓̎͌͞a̓͊̊̅͡d͗̓͡a҇̑̂͒ŷ̛̾͑ś͌̍͡~ William says, shooting down Eloïse’s attempts to still, despite all evidence to the contrary, weasel out of killing the vampires. Then, after a brief moment, he adds: ~Î͗͝ m̎̂͊͋͝y̛̒̽͆͊̋s̽̐̈͝e͌͑͌̑̄͡l̛̿f̛͗̍̇̈ t̛̐̐ĥ̇̋͋͋͞i̎͂͗͡n͑̂͌̕k̛̃̋͑̚ s͐̌͞h҇͛͆̑ë́̂̔͞ i͗̍̾̔͡s̛̎͑͋̚ g҇͆̉r̓̊̄̚̚͡o҇̉́̈́̀w̉͐͛̋͠i҇̆̎̇͆n͑̌̆̕ǧ̛̾̽̂ s̾͛͊͠e͐͂͒̍̌̕n̾̅͆̕i̅͊͡l̄̔̿̅̽͞e̛̐̀̄̏ i͒̏̋͡n̑̒͞ h̀̾͂͞ě̉̐̈͠r̔̉̂̀̂͠ o̅̈́̓͂̚͡l̿̈́͠d҇̌̌͌ à̛͗̽͗g҇̍͐e͋̓͝

Eloïse can’t help a snort at that offhand comment. There are, after all, very few people who have guts to actually call Baba Yaga out on how they see her, and Eloïse usually isn’t one of them, maybe due to power difference, or maybe due to familial connection. Her familiar, however, has no such qualms.

“What’s so funny?” the pale asshole asks from where the tanned guy was quickly bringing them up to speed on all the laws they have broken and any and all punishments potentially awaiting them.

“Nothing, just the voices in my head,” Eloïse answers. “They’re the only intelligent conversation partner in this house, after all.”

William snorts.

“I don’t understand why we can’t just get rid of her!” the pajama-clad moron asks in agitation, and both the blindfolded one and the tanned one look like they want to rip his head off.

“Oh, I don’t know?” Eloïse asks. “Maybe because I’m rather well-known in my circles, and it would raise many eyebrows should I disappear? Because all my friends and superiors know exactly where I had gone? Because I’m to call some of them soon, or else I have been threatened with a surprise visit before I can settle down? The list goes on, and none of the option ends well for you.”

“Oh quit the big-talk!” the moron snaps, and makes a move to throw himself at her, despite the tanned one’s warning shout—

William bursts from Eloïse’s shadow in a flash of hell-red flames and impales the vampire on his wicked horns. He misses all the vital spots, merely skewering him through the shoulder-blades, muscle, tendon and bone, but it drives the message home, seeing as the rest rear back in shock at the sight of the half-demonic, half-undead goat with four wicked horns.

“And there’s also William,” Eloïse says in amusement as the moron winces and all but hangs on the Bakhrahell’s horns in attempt to not to agitate the wound too much, the blood seeping into his white shirt and slowly trickling down William’s upper horns.

“What is this thing?!” the pale asshole shrieks, backing up the stairs, as if it would help him if the Bakhrahell decided to go against him next. The other three tense and also back up.

“This is William, my familiar,” Eloïse explains calmly. “I apologize for not being a typical witch with a cat, but demonic battle-goat suits me more.”

“y̛͌̉ṑ̑̏͡ũ̾̚͞ w̓̈͒̀̈́͠i͋̾̏̉͝l҇̌͌l҇̉̈̈̚ n̑̌̋̇̉͡o͐̀̽́͡t͐͌̈̄͝ h̑̽͋̐̏͠ä̛́͐͌r͐̅͞m̃̔͝ M̓͊͛͝i̛̋͒̂̚s̈́̿̏͡t̉̐͞r͛̑͐͞e͐͆̚͞ṡ̊͡ṡ͌̈́̓͞,́̀͡ v͂̓͝e͒̀̓͂̚͞r͌̃̄̄̚͞m͊̂̉̋̕ĭ̋͆̑̕ń̀̏͛̈́͝,” William snarls in synthetically echoing, demonic voice, before lurching forward and knocking the moron back, and sliding his horns out of vampire’s shoulders. He gives the remaining vampires a very unimpressed look. “f҇͂̉͐̐ơ̎͂͒r͂̓͗̾̓̕ t͗͒̒̕h̔̊͡e̒̔͠ r҇̈̊̑͒ë́̌̃̋̽͠c͐̽̇̀͠o͌̄̿͊͞r҇̈̇̍̍d҇̃̊̈́,̆͛̔͠ I͋̈͝'̈͆͂̕m̊́̐̄͌͠ v̒̿̓͆̊͠ë́̂̓̕ṙ͒̕ẙ͂͞ m̄̀̀͝ũ̐̿͑͠c҇͛̇͛̈́h҇͊̈͆ i̇̏̅͞ň̎͋̕ f͒́͌͡a͒͆̅̑̚͝v͌̒͗̇̕o҇͒̄r͗̐͝ o͒̿͡f҇̃͆ k҇͒͂̃͂̐i͛͠l͐͝l͐͂͠i͆̽͠n͒͐̎͞g͑̿͡ a͆̅͞l̛̽̍̃l̀̄͠ o҇̐̅̈̍f͊͒͊̑̕̚ ỷ̍̎̎͆͞o͌͑̐͂̚͠u̔̒̾̓͝.҇̏̈́̅ Ĭ̃͋͞ h҇̾͂̿a͋̿͛͡v҇͊̓͗̄ë́̿̏̔͠n̛̂͋̍'̛̄͑͂t̽̎̉̚͞ e̛̾̓ȃ̋̆̿͂͡ẗ́̽̄̓͛͞e҇͒̃̔n̒̿̎̄͠ à͒͞ v͒̂͝a̓̊̕m̽̽̌͠p͌̾͆̓͡i͗̈̅͝r̅̌͋͞ē̒̎͠ i̛̓̋̏̒̊n̔̊̏͐͞ q̅̓͒̕ŭ̈̒́͞i҇͗̋ť̆̄́͡e҇̈̓̓̉ s̍͑̀̐͠ȯ̌͌͞m̏͒͐̓͞ě̃͡ t҇̆͑ī̛̉̈́̔̾m̛̐͐̇̍e̊͐̄͒̐͠,̐̏͞ a͊͌̂̓͞f̌̒̄̊̏͞t҇̓͋e͋̍͠ř̛̂̐ à̋̏͝ĺ͑̓͛͞l̓͛̕,҇̃̐ ả͑͐̉͠n̋͐̊̕d̛͗̃̂̈̄ t̿́̎̅̚͡h̿̑͠e̎͒̈́͌̏͠ ơ̈́̄̒n͛̑̏̆̕l̓͋͝ÿ́̑̔̿͝ t̎͒͂͝h̛̏i̓̃̌͊͠n̓̒́͡g͐́͝ s̔̏͞t̅̎̃̒̚͞a҇̋́̂n̏͋̂̐͝d̀̿̎͞i̛̾̌̏͗ǹ̈́̿́̈̕ǵ͆͛̿̕ b̛̋̐ȇ͌̉̓̕t̐̚̚͡w̛̆̈́̒è̑͋͡ȅ̑̋̕n̔̏͡ m͐͂͂̕e̅̎͝ a̓̽̓̋͡n҇͂̽d̛͛̾̆̍̃ m̾̓͗́͝y̾͠ m͛̽̽̚͝e͌̕ȃ̛͆̓l̛̏̈́͑̚ i̛̾͛̃͗s̓̂͆͑̓͡ M͑̋̈͡i̔̂͠s̛̈́t̉̏͠r̛͋͗ē̏̕s̀̓̎͡s̛͒̃̈̀'̾̈́̍͞s̐̃̊͝ m̛̈͆o͗̈́͑͊͆͡r̾̔̚͝ȧ̈́̓̇̚͡l҇̋̽̇̓̉ c̓͗̍̚͞o͆̆̔̽͠m̛̓̀̐p̓̉͞a͋̆͋͠s͊͂͊͝s͊͋͞.̛͐”

“William, you’re ruining the moment,” Eloïse chides him gently. “If they know I’m actually on their side, they’ll get cocky.”

“Ḯ̊̈̕'҇̔͆m̊̈́̍͠ n҇̄̒ô̍̍̊͝t͗̓́̚͝ s҇̇õ̕̚r̃̓͌̅͝r̀͠y҇͌͆͌̄̇.̋̄̉̅͝ t̏͛̂͠h̛̄͋e͒̑͐̊͞y̛̋͌̄ n̅̒͊̋͝é̛͆̅͌e͌̇̊̐͡d͊̐̉̓̕ t̛̂͊̉o͛̎͂̕ ǩ͞n͌̏̏̀͆͝ơ̋̅̎w̛̒͛ t̐̾͠ĥ̔̍̃͡ë́͆̔̍̐͝i͒̓͡r͛̿͝ ṕ̽͠l҇̎̀a̓̆̕c̃̒́̂͠ë͠.̃͛͒͝”

Eloïse pinches the bridge of her nose.

“Aight, listen up—where’s the last one?”

The blindfolded one purses his lips. “I’m—I’m not sure it’s a good idea to call him down.”

“Why not?”

“He’s—”

“He’s young, he’s only been turned a couple of months ago,” the pale asshole says with a shrug, but he’s still shaking a bit and looking at William with suspicion, with William glaring right back. “He’s not good at controlling himself.”

“There’s a fledgling in the house?” Eloïse asks, blinking with disbelief. “And you’ve—you’ve just, like, what? Left him to his own devices? Without round-the-clock care? Next thing you’ll tell me is that you feed him so little he actually gets hungry and aggressive!”

“We can’t let him feed on people without killing them, so he is,” the blonde speaks up, looking at Eloïse in challenge. She just blinks at him, mouth ajar in shock.

“You—You’re—You’re starving a fledgling?!” she shrieks, well and truly losing the grip on her anger for a moment. “You—Fledglings need nothing as much as they need a constant stream of fresh blood if they are to develop themselves and their power correctly, and you—you’re telling me, you’re not feeding him? Almost at all? And you expect it to go well?!”

“Don’t tell us how to care for a recently-turned vampire!” the blonde snaps, pacing towards her, William temporarily forgotten. “I think we’d know better than you!”

“And yet you prove you don’t!” Eloïse snaps right back, also moving forward, before they meet in the middle of the room, face-to-face. Eloïse, with her one hundred and eighty centimeters, is almost as tall as him, downplaying his attempt to loom over her.

“Who do you think you are?!” the blonde hisses, attempting to loom and intimidate. Eloïse just glares at him with her unsettling, almost-white eyes. It takes a lot of mental control to not to combust his pretty face on the spot, so instead Eloïse grabs him by the shoulders with nothing more but her magic, and abruptly drags him few steps back.

“The owner of this place, and the person who decides whether you live or die,” she snarls, as he tries to shake off the invisible hands still firmly holding him down, well away from Eloïse’s personal space. “And you’re not making a good case for yourself, blondie. Now go upstairs, pack your bags, and OUT before I change my mind and kill you all!”

They all flinch at her tone, because Eloïse can muster a rather powerful roar-like shout if need be, even if it makes her throat ache uncomfortably. But it’s authoritative, and Eloïse was almost-attacked twice today already, and she’s starting to actually want to kill them.

Getting bloodstains out of the carpets and wooden floors, after all, was only difficult as saying an one-sentence chant and focusing a bit.

The pale asshole all but pounces upstairs when William takes few steps towards him, almost barreling into a sixth figure, a boy in a dark cape, standing at the top of the stairs. This must be the fledgling, Eloïse decides.

“Aren’t we even given an option to stay?” the pajama-clad moron asks, wincing all the time at the holes in his shoulders. They’ll heal—maybe, not that Eloïse cares—but that doesn’t mean it’s painless. He deserved it, though—things like these happen when you attack people.

“That’s right. Why can’t you just keep them?” a smug, disembodied voice sounds from the direction of the door, instantly putting everyone but Eloïse and William on high alert. She, instead, merely turns around to face the materializing woman, because using the door is outdated and teleporting in is the thing nowadays, apparently. The woman is tall, pale, and bony, with creepy, almost-white eyes, and cascades of wavy, red hair.

Baba Yaga, the most potential reason for the vampires being in the Kerrigan Manor to begin with. Eloïse suspected the woman would pop up sometime tonight to be her smug, powerful self and lord it over them all mere mortals, but her arriving so early put a wrench in Eloïse’s plan of kicking the vampires out without having to kill them.

Instead of addressing any of these points, however, Eloïse elects to tackle the point raised by Baba instead.

“Their backlog rent counts in literal hundreds of thousands in cash,” she says angrily. “And I’m under no illusion that they would never be able to pay it off, because I doubt any of them got an actual job, and I would never let them stay before that happened! Besides, two of these fuckers tried to attack me already, and I’m not sharing my roof with aggressive creatures!”

“Ah, so you’d instead allow them to get away, scoot-free, without paying you your thousands in cash, and with their lives?” Baba chuckles. “My, my, dear niece, how altruistic.”

“Don’t hold it against me that I’m tired of killing!” Eloïse snaps at the woman. “Which… Admittedly, I am actually obliged to do… And you can report me if I don’t… Ah fuuuuck, what a mess. Fookin’ ‘ell. Ye haed tae come haur, hadn’t ye!”

“Careful dear, your Scottish is showing,” Baba says bemusedly.

“Dinnae care!” Eloïse snaps, full Scottish accent just to be contrary. “Canae ye juist let me kick thaim oot an break soum laws by nae killin thaim?!”

“No, I can’t,” the woman answers, unbothered by the outburst and without a care for the six vampires, all ready to strike. “Eloïse, consider it, and do so carefully. The second the word gets out, to anybody, if one of them tattles, and one of them will because it’s how life goes, they will be killed regardless, and you will face consequences for them not being killed by your hand.”

“An why dae ye care whit A dae an dinnae dae?” Eloïse growls.

“For crying out loud, you stupid child, you’re my family, of course I care about you!” the woman snaps. “Just because I act like I do most of the time doesn’t mean I don’t!”

Eloïse blinks at the outburst, leaning back a bit in surprise.

“That’s… Awfully sweet of you, Baba,” she says eventually, carefully, and Baba snorts. “Doesnae change the fact thon it's yer fault tae begin wi! Dinnae deny it, ye're the only ane wha coud ave done this!”

“Alright, hold up, what the hell is going on?” the moron grunts out painfully, pressing at his wounds. “Who on earth are you?”

“Baba Yaga,” Baba says smugly. “The most powerful witch in existence, among other things known for putting an end to Vlad Dracul during the Vampire Uprising, at your service.”

“Very humble,” Eloïse mutters. “Baba is the only other person with access to the wards, so you being here is most likely her fault. What are you plotting, Baba?” she asks the woman.

“What if I told you I’d be willing to pay you all of the backlog rent of theirs, and additionally pay them off for the whole year in advance?” Baba asks, and it’s not something Eloïse was expecting at all, but also exactly what she was expecting.  “You get the money, they get to stay, you can go register them tomorrow or someday soon, and nobody has to die.”

Eloïse grits her teeth. The money is definitely enticing, but is it worth it to become a babysitter of six vampires?

“With coverage for any damages done to the house, including but not limited to unauthorized refurnishing, wear, and lack of proper care?” she asks before she can stop herself, because it’s money they’re talking, and Eloïse is really bad saying no to a significant influx of cash.

“Yes. And I’ll throw in a little extra for the attack.”

Eloïse grimaces, looking at Baba. “I’m selling their souls to you by proxy, aren’t I?”

A chorus of ‘what’s and ‘don’t you dare’s resounds through the room, and Baba chuckles in a very telling way.

“And what of their registration? Their crimes?” Eloïse presses. Baba just smiles, and pulls an envelope out of nowhere, handing it to the younger witch. “You really thought of everything, huh.”

“Of course.”

“I—I’ll need to think about it—” Eloïse tries, but her resolve is slipping. They’re talking a really big amount of cash here, and the vampires will get registered and Eloïse won’t be breaking the law, and honestly, everybody gains in this situation, even Baba who orchestrated the mess. Or maybe especially Baba, if she will have six vampires indebted to her.

“One million two hundred thousand pound sterling, darling,” Baba all but purrs, and Eloïse can feel herself swallowing the bait, hook, line, and the shiny, £-shaped sinker. “All yours.”

Eloïse wasn’t even surprised how Baba could calculate their backlog on the spot—if anyone knew how long each vampire stayed in the manor, it was her, but—

Oh who is she fucking kidding.

(She will regret it, she knows. Babysitting six vampires is not something anyone should hope to get through with their sanity intact.)

“y̅͑̐͋̕o҇̇̒͒̈́u҇͐̍̎,͑͌͡ m̈́̌͡y͆̊̋̊͠ d҇͌͐e̛̎͊̽a̽͋͗̆͡r̐̈́͝e̽̽̿́͡s̒̑͝t͒̄̒͝ M̎͒͝i̓̿͌̇̄͡s̀̽̂́͝ẗ̛́͋͐r̛̍͒ē͗̃̇̕s͊͡s͗̇̾͞,̛̋̐” William says knowingly, “a̓͗̐͗̆͝ȑ̑̾͝e̛̽̓̚ a̍̈́̎͡ h̃̐͑͛͡o͌̾͝p̓̌͊̂͡e҇̏̅ľ̛̋̍̃ě̓̊̎̈͝s̛͑̆̔̂̚s͒͊̈̚͝ c̊̂͆̐͞a̔̒̕s͌̽̀͞e̛͂̍̏ o͐͌̊͊͝f̛̏̋̃ a̾̎̆̔͡ m̍̑̒͝i͆͝s͋͗͞e̍̏͠ř̂̐̑͂̕.”

“Deal,” she says, ignoring her familiar’s very true jab, and Baba smiles, because she knows, and Eloïse does too, that the younger witch was sold the second money was mentioned, even if that meant herding vampires. She’s been through tougher babysitting assignments.

Eloïse extends her hand to Baba, and Baba takes it, and magical chains encircle their clasped hands, because of course Baba would make it a magically binding contract. But Eloïse isn’t the one it’s directed at—the chains don’t latch at her, instead shooting forwards at the vampires, to the cacophony of yelps, leaving barely-visible, bracelet-like thin scar-tattoos around their right wrists.

“For your information,” Baba says, “I left the fledgling alone. He’s all of eleven months since turned, and I’d feel bad if a literal baby were to pay the debts of others.”

“Who’s the altruistic one here, now?” Eloïse snorts.

“I am. Maybe. He’s barely an adult by mortal standards as-is, and lacking a sire, or a nurturing environment. It’s a miracle he’s still alive, truly. I hope you’ll rectify it.”

“A pet project?” Eloïse asks.

“Maybe,” Baba hums noncommittally. “Or maybe just a pet.”

Eloïse glares at the ancient witch who just smiles and vanishes as abruptly as she appeared, but this time with a crack of displaced air, leaving the younger witch, once more, alone with six vampires and her familiar.

Eloïse looks at them all, then exchanges a glance with William, and groans.

Why did she agree to this?

Ah.

Money.

That’s why.

“y̏̍̀̚͠õ̅͞ü̍̆̊̿͠r҇̃̆̅ g̛͋̒̚r҇̌́̇̒è̈́̿̿͞e͑̄͂͞ď̛̎̄͗̓ w̌̾͌͠i҇͐̌̾̐ĺ͐͝l͆̿͞ b̛̊͊͋͛ê̌͑̃͞ ỷ͊̿͝ȏ̾̍͆͠ü͋̂͠r̈͑̑͐͂͝ d̔͌̈͡ŏ͗̍̚͡w͂̄͠n͗̍̉̂̕f҇͛͆ā̾̓̕l҇̍̓͌l͊̎͞ ŏ̔͡n̛̑e҇̆̌̍͑̆ ó͒̾̌͝f̍̾͡ t̛͋̃h̋͋͠ẽ̛̌̏s̽̿̄̚̚͡e͌͞ d̃̽͒̉͠a҇̋̀͛͋̋ẙ̈́͑͒̓͠s̾̋̅͝,̃̿͛͠” William huffs in exasperated amusement, and pounces straight back into her shadow, vanishing from the physical realm.

“So I guess you’re staying,” Eloïse says to nobody in particular. “Fine. Okay. It’s—Fuck. Okay, okay, I got this. I’ll lay ground rules first thing tomorrow. Whoever decided it was a good idea to appropriate the Master Bedroom will find his things outside the door.”

The blonde looked like he wanted to argue, but Eloïse just looked at him flatly.

“You may have been a top dog before, blondie, but I own the place, you’re staying here only thanks to the good grace of my heart and Baba’s money, and I’m too tired to deal with your shit today,” she says. “If you want to challenge my authority, door’s right fucking there. That all? No, that not all. Kidlet, when have you eaten last?” she asks the fledgling at the top of the staircase.

He startles a bit at being singled out, looks around for a moment, and only then answers. “Two days ago. Ma’am.”

The overwhelming need to bang her head on the wall so that the world maybe starts making sense again returns to Eloïse with vengeance.

“William please tell me you have blood stashed somewhere in the Shadowrealm,” she pleads instead.

William pokes his head out of her shadow. “d͊͐̂̒͋͡ē̊̆̀̚͝e͑̾͝r̓̒̑̕̚,҇͛͆̀͊̚ w̍̿̿̎͗͠o̒̇̅̾̾͞l̿́͒͞f͆͛̾̐͞,̾̓͒͡ a͗̽͞ň̍͝ḋ̛̍̏ s̆̃͠o͗͛̍̉͡mȅ̉͞ g̛͑̄r͗̔̔̈͝i͒̃͡f̽̍̓̄͞f̛̿͌i͒͛͂̓͠n̛͛͛̇ f̛̅r̛̒̓̎ơ̍̊͛͋̚m̛͂͛ ȏ͆̏̇͞u͂̈́̔̏͞r̒̑͡ l̛͊͌a͊̌͊͆̿̕s̃̽͋̋̂͡t͑̀͐̇͋͡ h̏̈͌̚͝u҇̍̂͑̏n҇̊͐̽͒t́̀͆͞.͒̈́̚̚͠ I͂̎͒̂͞'͌̊̃́̽͠m͗́͞ n͆̐̕̚ȯ̚͝t̑̀̏͛͠ g͑͂̃̃͛̕í̛͒̓v͒̽͡i̓̽̎̇͝n̆̾͠g̔̈̉̅͞ t̾̓͡h̋͌͞e͆̊͒͊͞ g̈́̎͐̄͂͝r̓͊̓̔̇̕i̍̓̿̎̕f̛̎̏͐̐f̏̕i̽̃́͒͒͝n̒̑͝ t̎̏͠h̓̄͂̅̏͡ő͑͡ũ͋̽͑͝g̎̊̈́͠h͊̋̾̆͠.”

“Give the deer,” Eloïse says, and few seconds later she has an armful of glass jugs filled with blood. “Thanks.”

With that, she moves upstairs, dumps the jugs—three of them, five liters each, full—into fledgling’s arms, and barges into the Master Bedroom. As promised, she gathers and teleports blondie’s things outside the door, throws few cleaning spells around, changes sheets, changes into pajamas, and throws herself onto the bed.

Everything else seems like tomorrow’s Eloïse’s problem, and she leaves it at that, falling asleep without a care.

(And maybe with a nasty surprise on the door that zaps the pale asshole when he tries the doorknob.)

Eloïse Kerrigan and Baba Yaga.

Both images made using picrew.me dressups and neither belong to me.

Chapter Text

Chapter One

Indignation is had, and rules are set.

Oh, and there’s magic.

And a sassy demon goat.

~(0)~

Eloïse wakes up to the light of the early afternoon trying and failing to penetrate the curtained windows of the southeastern master bedroom, and a huge black goat sprawled belly-up across her feet, with his massive horns hanging harmlessly off the bed, safe from tearing the sheets. The bed isn’t her own, entirely too big in an entirely too big room, and it takes her a while to remember the events of yesterday. It makes her groan in exasperation.

She heaves herself up feeling sweaty and disgusting, and a little numb, after more than twelve hours sleep, but she supposes that she deserves it. She spent last forty hours before wide awake, finalizing everything, packing everything, and then riding that god-forsaken train. Now she must decide what she will do first; see if the basement laboratory is fine and spend potentially and other full day awake doing an inventory and unpacking her own things, or take her tenants—and wasn’t that weird, she wasn’t at home for even a full day and she already had them—to the Occult Bureau in town and have them registered with whatever bribes and threats Baba used to ensure so that they’d have little issues doing such.

But first and foremost, she had to bathe, and then get something to eat. There was most likely nothing in the kitchen—those vampires proved to lack any cognitive capability above that of a toddler, so she wasn’t expecting any blood packets in the fridge, either, despite having them was an absolute must and just plain common sense in a household that had a vampire in it, let alone six.

As for Eloïse, she brought her own food with her, at least enough for a week. A week was good enough amount of time to do the initial tour around the house, do inventory of all the artifacts, and re-apply wards. And given the yesterday’s situation, wards were an absolute must first item on the to-do list, no matter how much Eloïse wanted to lock herself up in her father’s crazy alchemist lair of a basement.

She pulled her feet from under William’s body and vacated the bed, pulling a change of clothes, towels, and some hygiene products from her purse with a wordless spell. All those things should have been physically impossible to fit into such a small bag, unless it held expansion charms. Eloïse had, of course. Her potions sold well, so she often could splurge on higher-quality convenience items with what was left from buying crazy rare and expensive ingredients she’d turn into even crazier and more expensive potions and make even more money with them.

The hallway is empty, but it’s the middle of the day, so Eloïse didn’t expect anything else, even if part of her wondered if maybe the vampires were so dumb they’d actually stay up in daylight, if only to complain at her. It would definitely be plausible, with the yesterday’s showcase. Instead, there are jugs she gave to the fledgling, cleaned and arranged neatly by the wall. William, not bothering to return to shadow realm in the privacy of a Witch’s Dwelling, merely puts them back in his pocket dimension as he walks past.

The bathroom is nice-ish, but the exact same she remembers it being, which is terribly outdated. Now at least she knows what she’ll be renovating first—historical site is one thing, but a high-end, comfortable bathroom, preferably with heated floor is something she’s always wanted. She couldn’t have one in dorms, nor in her apartment later. But now? This house is her personal property and she can do whatever the hell she wants with it. There are other family members still kicking around, sure, but she’s the sole legal owner listed, and if she wants a high-end bathroom with heated floor, then a high-end bathroom with heated floor she’ll have.

Not the rickety mess of badly-applied tiles and old bathtub, and a sink that’s a glorified bowl with a drain.

Since she had no idea if the water heating system even worked still, Eloïse elected to pour herself a bathtub full of cold water, and returned to her bag for few heating stones. She used just three medium ones, and they heated the water to comfortably scalding in mere minutes. Due to the nature of her magic, she always preferred the temperature of her baths to oscillate somewhere around ‘more steam than water and would kill a regular human’.

As she was scalding herself, William decided to take a tour of the house. She got him after she left, so all he knew about the manor came from Eloïse herself.

When she was done, Eloïse realized that she had quite a bit time to spare. If she wanted to get her tenants registered, she had to do it as early as possible, and she was hardly a person to put very important matters off. So, as much as she just itched to descend to the basement and not come out for a week, she had to control herself, wait for the nightfall, and drag the idiots out into the town, to the nearest Magic Bureau. Small mercies, there was one right in town, potentially due to the density of ley lines in the area. Kerrigans were incredibly lucky to have found and claimed the land to build their house on. Potentially, it was one of the juiciest pieces of real estate, and should it ever enter the market, it likely would fetch an astronomical price. Eloïse could attest to the potency of the place; her being born in a privileged line known for its powerful magic was one thing, but growing up in such magic-saturated place gave her a downright unfair edge.

She had her reasons for leaving, but now, seeing the place infested with vampires—and that in itself wasn’t bad thing per say, just their ignorance—who had no idea what treasure they had under their feet, she regretted leaving. She wouldn’t have even been that mad, if they knew how to cultivate that power. But alas, they were weak, ignorant children instead, and their only value was the ingredients they could’ve been taken apart into.

Speaking of that, Eloïse would have to keep her residents in secret from so many people now. Vampires, especially those unable to protect themselves against magic users? As an alchemist, her own fingers itched to just put her hands on all the ingredients they could provide her with. They were defenseless, and they didn’t even realize it, drunk on the most basic power they were granted, ignorant of what they could be.

Vampires could become incredibly powerful if they knew how to. Gods knew Dracula did, mowing down trained mages like they were nothing before Baba Yaga finally took him down almost dying herself. But that six? Clawless kittens, and nothing more.

Eloïse wondered if she should burst their bubble and teach them, but then stopped herself. Was it worth it? Were they worth it? The fledgling, maybe. He was young and fresh, on top of that sire-less, which made him potentially very receptive to magical training, previous aptitude notwithstanding. She met vampires who knew what they were doing. They were some of the people she held in the highest regard.

Eloïse huffed in annoyance, chasing the thoughts away. She was only winding herself up for no damn reason.

Bathed and refreshed, she decided to tour the house and catalogue all the things she could potentially make her (unwanted) tenants miserable for. It wasn’t their house, which meant they had no right to remodel anything without Eloïse’s explicit permission. She was certain they fucked up their rooms, but that was expected and should be fixable—it was their living space, after all. Hell, if they were polite enough, Eloïse might even be willing to compromise. But outside of the rooms? Her call.

First thing that caught her attention, were the portraits—or, more precisely, lack thereof. There was no Dorothea in the main hallway, no Priscilla and Galien in the ancient frame from their wedding hanging above the stairs, no Blythe, no Susanna, no Elva, no Marlene, god forbid Lazarus or Eustace’s portraits would be left.

Baba Yaga’s portrait still hung in its place offensively, of course, under a thick black curtain, as it always had, secured to the wall with some spell of Yaga’s nobody could ever really undo. Someone, Eloïse suspected the blonde ponce, was adamant at erasing the trace of manor’s original owners.

She sighed, walking along the hallways she ran through as a child. Now that she was older, a bit taller, and a lot calmer, the manor no longer seemed like a massive castle with endless corridors. It was decently big, yes, but not as huge as it was to a child. But it was the same. A little dusty, a little old. Those vampires were really, incredibly lucky that Baba Yaga saw it fit to only lift the ward preventing undesirables from entering the mansion, and not the self-cleaning function.

But then, even Baba Yaga employed logical thinking and common sense sometimes, although incredibly rarely. Or Beatrice. Whatever. Eloïse doubted anyone called the woman by her given name anymore.

Well, Mychaell did, but he was always weird, and Baba Yaga was his favorite aunt. His only aunt, too, but who cared about such details.

The fuckers took down grandfather Gauthier’s clocks too, Eloïse noted with distaste. She hoped they had the sense to store everything in the attic, because if they threw the antiques out, Eloïse would probably throw them out in turn, deal with Baba notwithstanding.

They did, she found out half an hour later, when she entered the attic, cup of coffee in her hand and William trotting behind her. All the portraits were stashed a little haphazardly but their smaller wards held true, ensuring the paintings weren’t damaged. The clocks would all need winding, but that was fine, too. She whispered a short chant, reaching three levels down, to the wardstone in the basement, issuing a short command. Her first since entering the house, and it was to fix the mess her (unwanted) tenants made.

Should that become a pattern, Eloïse would end up very cross with them.

She sighed, as the paintings and clocks shook and started floating. Invisible force dusted them off, and then they were zooming past Eloïse and into the hallways, snapping right back onto the walls where they belonged. She stopped two of the portraits as they flew past her, gripping at their gilded frames. From one, a man with pale skin and freckles was looking at her with his purple eyes. His hair was dirty blonde and fluffy, in a messy braid thrown over his shoulders. He also wore thin-wired glasses with big, round lenses. From the other, a woman looked at her with Eloïse’s own silvery-white eyes, sending a very unimpressed gaze at the viewer that she found herself mirroring. The woman had the exact same dark purple hair as she, and facial structure similar enough to be confused with Eloïse.

“Mom, dad, give me strength,” Eloïse sighed. “Baba Yaga is testing me and I have half a mind to hunt her down and beat her up.”

They didn’t answer, predictably. Colton Barr still looked like a smug, slightly disheveled mad scientist, and Marlene Kerrigan still gazed at everyone and everything like the world offended her. Eloïse smiled. However many years have passed, she missed her parents. They were powerful, brilliant people, and she always wanted to be every bit like them.

She understands their sacrifice. She appreciates it, because they very much saved the world, even if the mundane side will never learn of its hidden saviors. It doesn’t mean she doesn’t miss them, though, and terribly at that.

Eloïse lets go of the portraits and moves on as they snap into place. It’s been years and she’s a big girl with a future ahead of her, and she will not let their sacrifice go in vain.

“I̽͐̽̉͋͑͂̎̌͌̚͞ w̎͛̏̔͛̕ơ̏̈̋̇͊u͋̃̊̄͝l҇̉̍̅̾̃̋̔̓d̅͋̍̔̓͊̐̾͗͛̚͞ h҇̀̑̈́̋̾a̅̄̐͆̑̔̏̌̆͝v̿̑̆͗̅̏̾͞e̓̊̍̈́̏͐̾̆̇̿̃͠ l̀̇̏̀̓̕̚ớ̓̐͒̈́̽͐͂̔̈̐v̍͊̊̉͞e҇̉̇̽̿̇͌͛̍̑̉̾d̔̎̅̿̾̉̐̅͑͠ ẗ̛́͗̑͆͋̏̒̋͆ǒ̓̐̈̋̽͌͊̇̕ m̆͊̀̕̚ĕ͂̐̇͡e̐͒̄̿͊̑̿̚͞t̀̈̏̓̓̌͐͋̐̕ t̛̏̿͆̋̾̂̄̌̇̉͒h̆̀̒͗̃̒̃̓̃̒͋͗͡e̎̐̿̔̋̓̃͠m̈́̍͊͑̀͛͗͋͗͆͡,” William says wistfully.

“They would’ve adored you. Bakhrahells, and other Infernal familiars, were always quite coveted in the family. Priscilla had a Bakhrahell too.”

“W҇̿͑͒͗̈́͌̋ḧ́̽̃͑̎̏͞ā̈́̆͗̈̋̿̊̋̇̇͠t̏̓̀̈́͡ w̓̊͗̏̓͂́͗̎̏̄̉̕e̐͂̌́͋͌͗̋̈̍̏͛͡r̃̍̎̍͡e҇̌̂͛̂̌͐̓͗ y̓͂͊͗͗̇͋̍̂͑́̅͠ó̿͗̊͊͛͑̂͐͞u҇͐̊̍̎̈́͂̂̋̎̃̓r̒͑̋̈́̑͑̒̌͠ p̛͑̔̓͛̈́̚à̐̒̽̍̑̎̑̄͝r̛͐̎̀̾͂͛͊̌̓̌ē̍̔̓͛̒̃̕n͛͑̋̓̽̕t̛͛̀̍͗̐͊̄̽̂s̍̀̄̎̾͒̏̀̈̾͝'͒̓̃̓̾͠ f̛̊̄̈a̅̆̌̋̅̔̓͑̚͡m҇͒̑͂̅͛̓̒i̛̋̒͋̌̃͆̇̂l̊̏͛͒͡i͂͑̇̉̒̽͂͒̌̌̇͞à̇̑̋͆̈́̃͞r͛̇͋͋̽͆͂͗͞s̈̎̑̀̽͞?̛̈̃̂͑”

“Dad had a Hanajoō. She grew him a lot of rare plants he’d otherwise have trouble getting, too. Mom had a Rawist. It looked mean as all hell, but it was actually very lovely. It could pack a massive punch, though, like you.”

“O͂͗̓͗̌̕̚h͂̌̌̋͋̈̌̓͛̕ r̔͛͗̓͑͡i҇͂́̀̆͋̐͗̿̇̔͂͗g̽̇͐͋͝h̄̽́̀̃̍̑̒̈̆̓̇͠t̓͐͑̎͆̃̚͠,̔̇̈́͋͝ M̃̄̽͛̋̄̏̓̉̆̿̾͞a͒̋̈́̔͝r҇̒̑͑̈l̿̅͛̓̐͐̿̾̈̆̕e̅̿̀̓̈́̀̈̈́̄̀̈́̿͠ň̂̓̇̋̌͞e͂̊̋̓͆̈́̂̏͠ w̒̈̈́̆̿̌͝ā̓̀̈́̃̏̒̓̊͝s̓̑̔̊̀͝ a̓͛̃͂̆̓͞ b̉͛͑̓͋̌̆͡a̛͗̉̑̆͑̅̌ẗ̇͛̈̇͑͡t̿̋̂͐͠l̎̒̔̓̊̔̂͡e̒̈́͂̏̎̆͗̽̚͞m̛͑͂̍͗a̾̐̑̌͠g̃̄̐̍̊͌͐̃̃̾̐͛͠e̛̎͋̑̔̐̊͑͐,͒̌̌̋͐͊̚͡ t͌̾͊̿̐̈̈͗̉̍͗͡ơ͗̓͋̊̍̏̓͌̎͊o̊̑̌͡.̓̓̾͂́̆̓͝ “

“Yes, and she looked like personification of Death when using familiar armor,” Eloïse chuckled. “It was very cool. She even had a bone scythe!”

“N҇̂̿̍̊̄̐̀͛̓i͊̈́͒̆̋͡c̆͌̽̆̉̃̒͡e͐̋͋͒͂̓͆̎͊͌̾͞,̄͗̏̔̇̋̈͐̃͆̓͠ b̏̇̓͞u̾̀͛̃̒̔͗̏̊̈́͂͠t҇̆͂͛͐̒ Ì̊͛̎̋͑̉͌̿̑̐͡ p̾̏͗̑̎͐̔͆͞r̓̈́̊̅̃͒̏͆̄͠e̐̄͑̈́̀͊̅̀͂̚͝f̛̐̿̿̂e͐̉̌̑͡r̂̓̊̊͗͡ o̎̓͆̉̇́̏̏̃̒͐͝ū͒͑̊͝t҇̍͊̓̃̓ g҇̈́͋͗̃̎͒͋̇̈̆̓i͒̃͊̆̉́͂̇͞ȁ̈́̔̕n̽͆̿͋̀̒͞t͌̈͌͐̋̾͠ f̀̌͑͂́̒̔̏̋͝û̋́͐̒̚͡c̑͌̒̆̚͡k̀̓͐̓̓̎̌̂̾̎͡-̛͐̂̀͗͐̄́͗̿̇̽̚o҇̋͂̑͐̿͑̓̇̈̚f̔̄̆̚͡f҇̅͒̇͒̾͗ b͗̑̍͗̕ȁ̛̓̑̈́̋̔̃̈̋̉̚t̅̒͂̾̌̃͛̏͐̅͝ť̎̈́͂͡l͑̃͒͊̕e͂̌̋͑͠a͐̌̉̎̇͂̽̀͑͡ẋ̈͂̽̆͠e͒̇̑͞,” William sniffed haughtily. Eloïse chuckled again. But now, she had time. Quite a bit of it, until sundown, autumn or not. She couldn’t go into her father’s basement, because she wouldn’t come out for days, too absorbed in the studies, and she couldn’t go set the wards either, if she wanted to get them all up in one go. If a non-Kerrigan were to live there long-term, they’d have to be keyed in, and for that, they needed to be present, so she had to wait for the vampires anyway.

“What now?” She huffed.

“R̉̈̉͡u̓̆͝l҇̌̌̅͐ẽ̇͝s̊̓̿̔̊̕.̛͐̓͛,” William says, as if it were obvious.

“Rules?”

“R̉̈̉͡u̓̆͝l҇̌̌̅͐ẽ̇͝s̊̓̿̔̊̕.̛͐̓͛ T͌͑̿̚͝h͗̎̏͌͑͡e҇̿̃̊̈́ V҇͑̿̓̌̉a͂̉̓̏͡m̿̓͛̚͠p̏̀́̾͠i̇̍͛̆͡r҇̔̾ẻ̈̚͝s̽̇̕ h̎̿̌̕a҇̉̆̽v̋̍͠e̒̑̌͝ l̉̉̋̕i̅̆̈́̉͝v͂̓̃͂̓͡ề͡d͒͊̾̿͡ h҇̒̌̽̊e͌͂͞r̈́̽̔͝e҇̈̐ f́̇̀̆͠o̿̏̂͛͑̕r̉͆̔́͡ a̛͂̚ d̈̎̕e̓̐̓̇̃͠č̛̓̏̈̚ȧ̽̕d̃̓͡ē͆͞ o҇̈̓̇̌r̛̃͛ s̄̂̽͞o҇̎͆̅̄͋,͋͐̔̏̽̕ n̿̋͊̃͠o҇̔?̛̓̅̈́ Ṫ̛͛̏̍́h̓̑͠e͐̾̈͒͞y̋̓͌͊͡ p͌͊̀͝r̊̈͆̊͐͝o̍̍̈͞b̄͂̌̐͞ă̎̇͑͝b̛͂̐͗̽l҇̃̒̂y҇͋̀̇ t͗̎̆͡h͂̽̀͐̓̕i̾̅͆͠n̔̐͊͞k̋̊͋͒͝ t̛̿̀̓͛ḣ͐͋̉̕ě̽̇̏̕y̎̒͑͠ o̍̓̔́́͞w͒̆̈́͞n̏́̈́̑̍͡ t͛͒̕h̑̈̃̀͠ȇ̉̽͝ p҇̇͒̽l͌̈͂͞a̽̑͋͝c̓̓̋̐͡e̛̊̌̾̌̀,̛̓̄̏ a̾̍̉͠n̂̎́͐͝d҇̽͗͑ c҇͂͆̏̆̚h͛̌͠a̓͗̀͝n҇̀̿̓̾c̋͌̕e҇̅̿s̈́͋͒͠ à̇̈́̓͠r̛͐̂͐͑e̍͗̔̎̐͡,̛̓̽̽̎̐ t́̑͠h̆͂̓͌̇͡é̛͋̈̆͛y̛͂̊̊̔͐ w҇̅̉̂ī̂̌̏̇͠l̿͊͡l̄̒͛̆͂͞ t̃͡r̂̆̕y̅̎̕̚ t҇̅̄õ̿̅̕ m̛̑̐̍á̒͞k̾̊͡e̒͆̓̓͞ ẙ̽̅͗̒͝ơ̍̄͋̚ư̐̏̑́ f҇̉͋̑̂ơ̒̍̽̅͐l̽̏͐͞l̄̾͝ơ̒̏̈w̓̍̓͞ t́̏͝h̾̈͝e҇̈̃̌i҇̈́͑̚ṙ̕̚ i̿̉̆͛̑̕d̍̃͝ȇ͛̕̚ã͡s̊͋͝.̅̇̿̕ Y҇̋̏́̓͊o̊̃͗̄͠u̓͐̂̄̄͞ n̓͆͊̕e̛͆̿̀̆̚e҇̓͆̓̾d̓̽͠ t̾̆͌͑͠o҇͌̏̂̽̐ n҇̏͒i͐̓̽͝p͗̍̉́͝ t͒̓̌͌̑͡h̛̋̑̈ã͛͒͊͠t̾͋͌̉͠ ï͑̔̎̕n̿͝ t̛̽͋͌h̅̈́̓͡ē̽̅̃̚͠ b͌͗͒̕u̾̍̄͒͠d͌̉͡.̂̄͋͐͡.̂͋͒͝”

Eloïse considers this for a moment, and as always, her familiar is right. He always thinks about things that Eloïse misses, and she loves the demonic goat for it all the more.

“So, should I draft a contract? One they must sign to stay here, one they must follow, the fact that Baba is paying for them notwithstanding,” she muses aloud.

“M̛̀̊̄͐a̎͆̓̉̒͝k̇͆͐̐͡e̒̽̊͡ i̐̂̚͞t̛͌̐͐̇ m͐̋̄̽̚͡ǎ̆͞g͌̋͝i҇͂̿̽͗ċ̉͞ǎ̛̌͌͐͗l҇̄̾̋͌̓l҇̈́̋̈͛y҇̎̅̋ b҇̊̓͆̓͌i̓̄̽̊͗̕ṅ̂̊͡d̛͗̍i҇̐͑͒n̄̇͂͌̍͝g̽̒̏͂̚͠,” William tempts. “M͌͊̅̋̕a̎̒͠k̇̀́̃͞e҇͛̾͑ t҇͐̉͛̄̀h̆́̕ě̆͒̔̕m̑̂͠ u̍̇̃̚͝n̋̀̓̀͠a̛͛͗b̛͐̿̔̅̊l͆͒̕e͑͆̋̀͞ t͊͂͒̀͠o͐̅͒͒̉͞ g̾̿̊̋̔͠o͊̃̕ a҇̎͐g҇̚̚a̔̌͝i̎̓̋̽͞ń̅̕s̋̀͂̿̌͠t̔̋̈̍̓͝ i͛̿͝t̄̍̓̕ e҇̃̑͐̔v̈̾̿͑͞e҇͋̔ń̚͡ i͌͒̎̇͠f͋́̽̚͠ t͂̉͐̇͛̕h͐̑̂̃̏͡e̛͆̒y҇͂̎͌ w͛̈́̒̔͞a͑̋͝n̋͐͗͠t͂̆̓͠.̍̌͝ Y҇̃̀̅ơ͂̓͑ú̄͐̒͞'͂̒̉̈̕r͐̓̓͡ĕ̾͞ t͑́̄͠h͛̆͊̇̎͡e҇̉͑̑͋̅ b̄͆͞ơ̿̈͂͋s̓̿̋̔̔͡s̾̎͑͡.̄̔̅̕”

And isn’t is tempting, to do just that? But no. Eloïse shakes her head.

“I’d love to, buddy, but I’ll start with a basic one, just words on paper, no magic. You know, to be a bigger person, try diffusing the conflict like the sole adult surrounded by idiot children that I currently find myself as.”

William snorts. ”I͛̈̀̽̕f͂̇̔̔̓͝ t̃͒̀̒̾͡h̅͛̏͒͠ě͂̇͗̆̕y͆̿̓̈́̚͞ d̛̔̽i̛̔͌̊s̈́̔͝ā̅̓̄͞ǵ̿͑̌̈̕r͛͗̃͞e̛̍̿͛e͊͑̑̔̒͞,̈̿̆̾͝ t̛͂͒͗e҇̿̓͂̓l̏̄͌̍̕̚l҇̃̈́̍̌ t͌͆̅̐̕h̊̔͐̕e҇͐̆̄ṁ̾̽̚͞ I̒͊̉͞'͛̐̎͠m̓̓̓͝ h̄͊͞u͐̌͡n҇̓̈̆̚ǵ̍̓͗͠r͗̂͞y̽̇̆͠.͊̀͊̐̌͝.̄͗̄́̅̆͑͂͋̕”

Eloïse chuckles, pats the Bakhrahell on his forehead, and summons paper and pen from her bag. She has couple of hours to figure out a way to coexist with her unwanted tenants.

It’s not nearly as stressful as the High Commission Exams, even though stopping herself from being mean for the sake of it is quite difficult. Having all the power in the relationship is quite exhilarating, and she has to remind herself every couple of minutes that she’s the bigger person here and can’t abuse that power too much.

When they finally deign to wake up and get down, Eloïse is already waiting for them in the dining room, six sheets of paper laid neatly in front of her.

The whole cohort comes to find her. Good.

“So, we decided—” the blond ponce starts, but Eloïse cuts him.

“I have drafted an agreement that you will sign if you want to live here,” she tells him. “Some of the rules are non-negotiable, some are negotiable in due time. If you refuse to sign the agreement, you will be out of the house by tomorrow. I making myself clear?”

A cacophony of ‘what’s’ resounds, and Eloïse claps her hands, sound amplified enough with magic to startle the vampires.

“You can’t just waltz in here—” the ponce, but Eloïse cuts him again.

“You have been squatting in my house for a long time, and seem to intend to stay. Let me explain; this is my house, from mother and grandmother, it belongs to me, and only me. I am the only one capable of deciding who lives here, and what rules are in effect. If you disagree with this, you will have removed all traces of your presence by tomorrow.”

“You—”

“In case you didn’t notice yet, I’m not asking. I’m patiently explaining, and that is already more than I should have done. However the things worked in mansion before, things changed yesterday. Now, when I say jump, you ask how high. Am I understood?”

“You can’t—”

“I say jump, you ask how high. If you don’t want to obey me, you will be gone by tomorrow,” Eloïse tells them, face impeccably neutral. “Let me say once more—this is not a question. I’m not asking, I’m not saying please. I’m informing you of what will happen. You can accept it, or you can leave. The choice is yours.”

With that, she spreads her hands over the rules. Thanks to magical copying, they’re all exactly the same, and thanks to Eloïse’s trained, neat handwriting, they’re also perfectly legible.

“Read them and sign them. As I said, some of the rules will become negotiable in the future, but that will only happen once you’ve gained enough favor with me,” she explains. “For now, I really don’t like you, and the only thing keeping you in the manor is Baba’s money. But if you put in work to make me like you, your life here will become exponentially easier. So, let’s make this a mutually beneficial agreement, no?”

The blonde ponce is looking at her with a very sour expression. The Jack Frost thrift-shop knockoff and the purple-haired idiot in pajamas are looking at her indignantly, the big guy and the blindfolded one just look resigned, and the fledgling looks genuinely considering. In the end, he’s the one to make the first move, walking to the table and taking one of the pages. He sits with it on Eloïse’s right, and starts to read. That shakes others out of their stupor, and they follow suit, entirely lacking any enthusiasm. The blonde appears to be trying to glare her into submission, but Eloïse’s Elemancy teacher, a soft, plump, incredibly kind woman, had a glare much more frightening, and actual power to harm Eloïse to back it up.

The rules were quite simple, in Eloïse’s humble opinion, and most of them were plain common sense, or re-appropriated actual Draculean and Statutory Laws. There weren’t even that many of the rules, really. Less so than in Eloïse’s dorms, in fact. Hell, they weren’t even as strict!

1. You are not to feed on people without their explicit, unsolicited consent.
2. You are not to use mind magicks on anyone, be it in form of suggestion, or to alter their memories, or in any other form.
3. You are under no circumstance allowed to attack anyone unprovoked.
4. You are allowed to defend yourself from attackers by using force.
5. You are under no circumstance allowed to kill anyone.
6. You are not to invite anyone into the premises without the landlord’s explicit permission.
7. You are to have an active, current registration with the Committee.
8. You are to listen to the requests of your landlord, and obey them, unless good enough counter-argument is provided.
9. You may request things from your landlord. The landlord reserves the right to turn the requests down.

The blindfolded one has the big one read him the rules, so they’re murmuring quietly to Eloïse’s left. If she knew braille, she would’ve used it, but then, there’s no guarantee the vampire would know it either. But they seem sensible, so they shouldn’t be overly problematic. Their inaction, despite their knowledge, is an offense, but she can work with that. The main three offenders—blond ponce, idiot in pajamas, and Jack Frost knockoff—are glaring at her, and Eloïse can already tell they will be the major troublemakers here. What has it come to, where Eloïse tags the fledgling, a notoriously difficult to handle type, as the easiest to handle? He’s sitting politely to her right, reading the form like a good child and the only trouble he causes are due to hunger. Even his lack of knowledge can be excused, since he’s not even a year post-turning.

Since Eloïse pegged the problem children, it’s only normal one of them begins to complain. It’s the moron in pajamas. There are bandages poking from under his shirt, and he seems to be uncomfortable moving his shoulders, after William gored him last night.

That doesn’t make him any less annoying, sadly.

“I don’t even know anymore. You come in, boss us around, give us those damn rules—”

“Horrible, I know,” Eloïse coos unsympathetically. “It’s almost as if I own the place.”

“Don’t get cute with me now,” pajama-clad moron hisses. Eloïse smirks.

“I’ll do whatever I want, whenever I want. The most you can do is say ‘yes, ma’am, of course ma’am’,” she explains patiently, and he glares at her. She ignores him. If they want to keep living in her house, on her property, they will bend.

The fledgling, seemingly intent on staying her favorite, raises his hand up. She nods at him.

“What happens if we break the rules on accident, or against our will?”

“Then I will decide how accidental was the accident, what punishment is applicable, if it is applicable, and how to prevent it in the future,” Eloïse explains. “But if you worry about attacking people, don’t. The urge won’t be nearly as strong if you’re properly fed.”

“But you’d forbid us from feeding!” Jac Frost-knockoff argues, and Eloïse scoffs.

“I forbid you from assaulting people,” she says disdainfully. “Just because you’re too stupid and lazy to look for alternatives doesn’t mean they don’t exist. Any more questions?”

“If we don’t agree to these terms?” blond ponce asks.

“You leave.”

“If we refuse to leave?” he challenges.

“It’s not up for discussion,” Eloïse says. Since she’s feeling a bit generous towards them, she elaborates: “I will be resetting the wards after we’re done here. If you’re not keyed in, you will be forced out after a couple of hours. Repeated entry without permission will result in bodily harm, as the wards will mark you as undesirables.”

The ponce doesn’t say anything else, pursing his lips and looking at the paper as if it personally offended him instead.

“How do we get registered then?” Elsa-knockoff challenges, but Eloïse doesn’t rise to it.

“Well, after you’ve signed the paper, and I’ve keyed you to the ward, I will take you on a supervised trip into the town, to the magic office,” she explains instead, as if it were the most obvious thing. To her, it is. “We’re really lucky that there’s an office here, or we’d have to make an excursion into a farther town.”

“Why do you talk about us like we’re some rowdy children you need to babysit?!” the pajama-clad moron hisses, glaring at her. They do that a lot, she noticed. Eloïse just looks at him in fabricated confusion.

“But you’re socially-uneducated brats I’m currently responsible for though?” she asks, faking confusion perfectly. She sees his hackles rise, and has to fight a smug grin. “I mean, I’m literally getting paid to run a daycare for you.”

His face goes white with fury before it goes red, and Eloïse had no idea that vampires, being undead, could blush. Hell, she doubts she’s actually seen a person blush this hard in her whole life. Now, don’t get her wrong; she tried to keep the laughter in. She really, really tried.

That didn’t make her fail at it any less, though.

Her composure crumbles in parts—eyes are first, always, because they just shine with amusement. Then, her lips quirk, then there’s a snort, and before she knows it, she’s cackling, banging a fist on the oaken table. The moron, having realized she was just making fun of him, hangs his head, face flushed with fury and shame. It’s not like he can get a word in when she’s busy cackling like a mad hyena.

“Are you done?” he hisses venomously when Eloïse’s laughter subsides to sparse chuckling. She nods her head.

“You’re so easy to get a rise out of,” she says, snorting again. “I admit, I didn’t think you would be. I had no idea vampires could go this red! But I suppose, since your magic is weirdly balanced, that you’re not a fullblood, so maybe that’s why…”

“What?”

“I can tell you’re a hybrid by just looking at you. I mean, it’s obvious. The big guy, too. A classic nosfera-lycan hybrid, but you?” Eloïse motions at the startled redhead with her chin. “Something demonic, but demons have different types despite having very similar magic footprints. Yours is further dulled by the vampire in you.”

“That’s pretty amazing that you can tell, actually,” the blindfolded one says, and Eloïse is pretty sure it’s actually honest. The fledgling’s eyes seem to sparkle as he’s looking at her, but it may very well be the trick of the light.

“Don’t encourage her, Raphael!” the moron bristles, but Eloïse just claps her hands loudly to shut them up.

“That topic aside, sign the waiver or get packing. Chop-chop. I’m feeling gracious so it’s not actually a magically binding contract, just a sign of goodwill. Keep to the rules, and I’ll be nice to you.”

The fledgling, once more, is the first to make the move. He grabs one of the pens Eloïse laid out with the documents, and signs the paper without further ado. The big guy and the blindfolded one sign without fuss as well, but the Trouble Trio hesitate. Elsa-knockoff is glaring at the paper, the ponce is glaring at her, and the moron is glaring at the non-troublesome trio. Eloïse puts her chin on the palm of her hand, resting the elbow on the table, and just locks her eyes with the ponce, and stares, blinking slowly from time to time.

His glare isn’t even that bad, to be honest, and Eloïse gets the first row of seeing his resolve crumble brick by brick in the face of such flippancy that she’s conveying with her own eyes.

It takes a couple of minutes, but he snarls, breaks the eye contact, and angrily scribbles his name on the paper. It startles the other two into action, and they follow him, mostly out of shock. Eloïse snorts and beckons the paper to her, watching it obediently fly into her hands.

Vladimir Lancaster. Beliath Covington. Ethan Witt. Aaron Moore. Raphael Lortie. Ivan Hester.

Maybe, given that they were officially her tenants, Eloïse should remember their names.

Maybe she would, it wasn’t difficult. Ivan. Raphael. Aaron. And, of course, the Problem Children; Ponce, Elsa-knockoff, and Moron.

“Alright,” she says, rolling up the documents and throwing them into William’s shadow for storage, for additional dramatic effect that maybe they did just sign their souls to the devil. “Follow me to the basement.”

“What basement?” Ethan asks, surprised. “There’s no basement in this house! We explored every part of it!”

Eloïse snorts. “Even the hidden door behind the bookcase? Or the locked rooms in the attic?”

“The what?”

“The hidden door behind the bookcase.”

Eloïse leads them to the library, to the corner adjacent to the door, and reaches out with her magic to the glyph hidden behind the wood. The bookcase in the corner shakes, and then slides seamlessly back, revealing an oaken door behind it. William pokes his head out of Eloïse’s shadow for a brief moment, a hoop of keys looped around one of his massive horns. She takes the hoop, selects the key, and easily unlocks the door.

“The hidden door behind the bookcase,” she repeats again, with a smug smirk, and enters what is a stairway down. There are candelabras mounted to the walls, each with a dull gem instead of flame, and they lit up in pale yellow when she passes by them. The vampires follow down, after they’re done exclaiming their shock, and Eloïse uses this time to select the appropriate key to open the heavy black door in the room they reach. She reaches out to the barrier-glyph on the door, noting with distaste that Baba Yaga did, indeed, tamper with it, and dismisses the glyph entirely. She’ll have time to redo it at her leisure later, this time to keep Baba out.

The room behind the door is almost a cave, covered from floor to the ceiling in pale crystals in cold colors, mostly blue and purple. In the middle is a pedestal made of black stone with runes glowing gold engraved on it. Atop of the pedestal is a stand, branching into three, and above each branch a small white crystal floats delicately. The big, golden crystal that’s supposed to be between them, in the middle of the stand, is instead laying next to it, dull and inactive.

“Good god, Baba, one of these days I will tan your hide and make gloves out of it,” Eloïse mutters darkly, as she grabs the golden crystal with her magic and puts it back where it belongs. It lights up immediately, runes blossoming in gold rings around it, and Eloïse whispers appropriate reset formulas in druidic and enochian. The vampires, who trickled in as she was resetting it, look around the wardroom slack-jawed.

“That’s a really massive concentration of mana,” Raphael says with wonder lacing his voice. “To think I didn’t sense it at all before crossing this room’s threshold. The barrier around must be incredibly powerful.”

“Well, yeah,” Eloïse shrugs turning to them. “Seven generations of magic users contributed to it, it has a bit of an oompf. Now, your blood. Nab your finger and let couple of drops fall onto the big gold gem.”

William sticks his head out again, this time holding a small, ornate dagger in his mouth. Eloïse takes it and hands it to the closest vampire, who happens to be Vladimir. He glares, again. He seems to do that a lot.

“We have nails,” he scoffs.

“Take the dagger anyway,” she says. “For aesthetic. I forgot you’re so weak you don’t heal properly.”

“What do you mean, properly?” Beliath bristles, and winces at his shoulders.

“That is what I mean. To a proper vampire it would take maybe twelve hours to fully regenerate a lost limb, but you couldn’t fully heal two punctures in almost twenty-four.”

He hisses, and turns his head away. “I don’t have enough blood.”

“So why won’t you go to the Commission and get some? It’s not even that expensive,” Eloïse asks, and then smirks. “Oh, wait. You don’t know what the Commission is, do you.”

Beliath, as easily riled up as before, almost lunges for her, but Rahael forcefully steps between him and Eloïse, grabbing the dagger from Vladimir’s hand. He adds his blood to the ward-stone without fanfare, and it accepts him just as easily. Others quickly follow suit.

“Wasn’t that bad, now, was it,” Eloïse sighs, taking the dagger and cleaning it. Then, she uses the blade to cut across her own palm, and drip a generous amount of her own blood in, to strengthen the ward properly.

Now, opening one’s own skin in close proximity of vampires would have been extremely dangerous, but—

But not for Eloïse, not really.

All of them like one make a sound of pure disgust and back away from her.

“What is that?!” Ethan wails, covering his nose. Ivan, Vladimir, and Aaron all look like they’re about to throw up, and Beliath looks like he’s about to faint. Raphael is halfway out of the room.

“I’m an alchemist,” Eloïse explains, unbothered. “For years I have worked with various, often toxic substances. Breathing in the fumes, getting cuts, testing potions, sometimes straight-up eating ingredients. I have gained incredible poison immunity, but my blood is a rancid, toxic slurry now, which I’m sure you can smell. For that, I suggest you don’t attempt to bite me. My blood is a fairly strong acid, and it would probably melt your teeth and severely damage your mouths. Just a thought.”

They all nod in agreement at that, and promptly flee the room. Eloïse smirks, pulling a small box out of her pocket, and lathering a generous amount of ointment it holds onto her wound. The cut closes almost instantly, leaving an angry, red line behind that, too, will be gone soon.

With that, Eloïse leaves the happily shining ward-stone behind, and returns upstairs, thinking on her next task. She still has to take the guys out into the town to get them registered, after all.

Chapter Text

Chapter Two

There’s a trip into the town.

Some explanations are given, and the kids go shopping.

And someone finally comes home.

~(0)~

Eloïse thinks that, now, she can say with a degree of certainty, that if she was previously neutral to any form of herding children, she loathes it now. The problem trio, apparently, has decided to be more troublesome than it was already, and take their sweet time getting ready. Five minutes in, Ivan, Aaron, and Raphael were already waiting with her by the door, but the problem trio were nowhere to be found. Ten minutes in, Eloïse huffed and went upstairs, and barged into their rooms one after another, dragging them out, literally kicking and screaming.

“I don’t care if you’re stark naked, I don’t care if you didn’t brush your hair,” she informs them calmly. “If you can’t follow simple directions, and the other three shown that it’s perfectly possible, then I will take action.”

“You can’t just barge into our rooms!” Beliath complains, and Eloïse just looks at him.

“Those aren’t your rooms. I will be reassigning them once we’re back.”

“What?!” hisses Vladimir, trying to wrench his hand out of her grip, to no avail. “Isn’t kicking me out of mine enough?”

“You came in and picked your rooms by yourselves,” Eloïse rolls her eyes, “without consulting me or getting my agreement. I’m not the only living Kerrigan, and we’ve all agreed that once I go home, others will follow suit. Throw a fit all you like, but your entitlement to place to stay will never outweigh that of those who actually live here. Baba may be paying me to keep you here, but I didn’t invite you, and I will not be bending backwards to accommodate you. This is not your house. It never was, and it never will be. You’re my tenants, and if, by the time your year is up you can’t pay your own rent, I will kick you out.”

“What?” it’s Ethan’s time to hiss. Eloïse looks at him, unimpressed.

“I’m telling you to find jobs. You will not be living here on my tab. Trust me, you will not be able to afford mooching favors off of me.”

“How would we not be able to afford mooching favors?” Ivan asks confused, and Eloïse final drags the problem children downstairs. They’re shocked enough by their inability to physically fight against a (magically enhanced, but they don’t need to know that) human enough that they don’t put up much of a fight.

“I’m a witch,” Eloïse shrugs, “and Kerrigans have a history of literal dealing with the devil. You can’t get familiars like ours anywhere else than straight from hell. In hell, every little favor has a price, and that way of business rubbed on us with time.”

“How would we even be paying you?” Beliath huffs, and then smirks, leaning in towards Eloïse. “With our bodies maybe?”

Eloïse smirks and leans towards him. “Why, of course,” she purrs. “After all, vampires are chock-full of potent alchemical ingredients. Butchering one of you would yield me enough profits to live comfortably for a full year.”

He blanches and rears back. “This is not something to be joking about!”

“But I’m not joking!” Eloïse snorts. “Vampire body parts really are potent and incredibly expensive commodities, especially since you can only butcher the vampires that have gone feral or broke the laws.”

The others look very uncomfortable with the prospect. Eloïse decides to strike the iron while it’s hot.

“For now, since you’re living near to a highly-populated area while being unregistered, you’re labelled as the law-breaking kind, since you’re doing exactly that,” she tells them seriously. “So I implore you to realize that I’m not being a mean villain dragging you out and upending your lives, because if someone else were to see you, right here, right now, they would be full well within their rights to kill you and harvest you for ingredients, and it would not be considered a crime.”

“That’s… That’s inhumane,” Ivan says, looking a bit green.

“It is, and I don’t agree with killing vampires who haven’t gone feral,” Eloïse says in agreement. “But these are the laws that were formed over the hundreds of years, that have worked well for equally as long, because it may seem like we treat vampires like animals now, but those that follow laws are treated like every other sentient creature that does, which also makes them perfectly capable of vetoing the laws that don’t work. However, dangerous creatures, no matter how sentient, have been, are, and always will be considered a threat if they don’t follow laws. As for why I don’t agree with some of them, is because in your current situation, an act of self-defense could and would be labelled open aggression. This is why you must have valid registration.”

“You don’t have to be so rude about it,” Beliath scoffs.

“She could’ve killed us, though,” Ivan says. “Yesterday, when she came in—she could’ve just killed us all and nobody would bat an eye. But she didn’t. Is letting us live really that rude to you?”

“She doesn’t to have to be so crass about it!” Beliath argues, taking a step towards the fledgling, but Eloïse bodily steps between the before it can escalate.

“We owe her our lives! She can be crass all she wants!” Ivan snarls. “I, for one, am glad to not be butchered like a pig!”

“Stop,” Eloïse commands, enhancing her voice. “No fighting is allowed in this house. And if me being begrudgingly accepting of this situation is what you snowflake think amounts to rude, then god forbid you be anywhere near me when I actually decide to be mean. Now, that I’ve explained situation, we will be going into the city, and you will behave. We’ll be going to the magical side of it, and people there are unlikely to tolerate your bullshit behavior just because you’re high and mighty vampires. And if anyone learns that you’re unregistered, it will be a bloodbath. Understood?”

She gets several unhappy nods, but this time, everyone follows her obediently out of the door and into the crisp autumn air.

“I can’t believe there’s a whole magical community under out noses,” Ethan mutters. “That’s some harry Potter bullshit.”

“Well, it’s not that far off from Harry Potter, actually, it just makes more sense,” Eloïse shrugs. “Some expansion charms, some notice-me-not’s, some human ignorance, crapload of wards. It’s worked for thousands of years, it’s just a point to adapting to the changing times.”

“Will Ivan be okay, though?” Aaron asks, glancing at the fledgling, who looks up, seemingly surprised. He’s also shed his edgy cape in a favor of an oversized hoodie. “He hasn’t been near humans much because he’s aggressive—”

“There’s a difference between aggressive and starving, and he’s not starving anymore,” Eloïse says, giving the redhead a stink eye. He looks away.

“I’ll be fine,” Ivan placates them. “For the first time since my turning I actually don’t feel that bad, so.”

Whether it was accidental or Ivan is actually a little shit, Aaron still looks very ashamed. He must have been Ivan’s caretaker.

“Tell me, what were your symptoms before?” Eloïse asks the fledgling.

“Well, I was constantly hungry, like, you know, like you would pull and all-nighter but don’t eat or drink anything throughout. My throat was often parched, I’d have headaches, I’d be dizzy. My bones and muscles hurt a lot, too. And I’m cold. My palms and feet are cold no matter what I do,” Ivan lists off.

“Any stomach ache?”

“Sharp stinging pain in my stomach. I think because I was hungry. Do you know what that was?”

“Your body was literally trying to eat itself due to lack of nourishment,” Eloïse tells him before anyone can interject, since she could see Ethan open his mouth already. “I’ve seen cases of starved, feral fledglings. When performing autopsy, you could see their organs eating themselves.”

Ivan looks at her horrified, and others seem visibly unhappy.

“You were fed, so you probably didn’t suffer much from that, but you definitely weren’t fed enough, which led to you developing feral tendencies. But it’s fine, fledglings have a much bigger mistake margin than fledged vampires,” Eloïse explains, and then turns to the others; “don’t you guys remember your turning?”

“Ethan and I were both turned during wars,” Aaron admits in shame. “Now that I think of that, I’ve never suffered shortage of blood.”

“Ditto,” Ethan pipes in.

“I was born this way,” Beliath sniffs.

“…I don’t remember much of my first years,” Vladimir says unhappily.

“It’s been a long time,” Raphael chuckles. Eloïse sighs, rolling her eyes.

“The coldness in your body, as well as the muscle pains and migraines, are normal,” she turns to Ivan. “Your body is adapting to its new undead state. Feed properly, stay out of light, and maintain socialization, and you’ll be fine.”

“Yeah, that,” Ethan cuts in, “how do we feed? You said we can’t bite people.”

“Without their consent.”

“I’m not going to just up and ask someone if I can bite them!” he hisses. “We’re keeping low profile for a reason!”

“This is also why I’m taking you to the magical part of town. To show you how civilized vampires get blood.”

“Civili-?! You!”

“Stop snarling, we’ve reached the town.”

Thornden wasn’t a small town, but it wasn’t quite a city just yet, with it’s a little over fifty thousand residents, some big stores, and a generally bustling populace. It was slowly, very slowly, but steadily growing, has been for two hundred years now. Interestingly, int had one of the biggest magical communities to mundane ratio, due to how perfectly it was placed on a crossing of multiple ley lines. The Kerrigans have always been patrons of the magical community here, and Eloïse had no illusions that Baba pulled from exactly that clout, backed up by her war hero status, to allow for the vampires to be belatedly registered rather than found out and executed on the spot. Maybe it was Baba who led them to begin with?

But that begged the question of why? Baba was the one Kerrigan who genuinely disliked vampires, even Euros. But then again, she and Euros clashed more than once during Draculean Wars before he did an one-eighty and sided with the non-vampire faction.

(Eloïse missed the old fucker. Out of all Kerrigans alive, he was definitely her favorite. It was only a little bit because he brought the best presents.)

Baba seemed entirely unsurprised by the vampires that came to squat at the house, she didn’t even look them over, like she knew exactly who lived there. The only one she looked at yesterday was Ivan, who was recently turned. This implied that Baba knew, at least of them, and let them stay on purpose. Why? Eloïse had no clue. Baba was a kooky old lady, but she wasn’t that random. Probably.

Eloïse led the vampires through the alleys, changed since she was there the last time but somehow still the same, as she followed the glyphs noticeable only really to the magically inclined, and found the entrance to the magic-inclined part of the town. It was warded to hell and back, and to a mundane, it would look like a regular dead end. Magically inclined, however, would notice the layer of magic enveloping it, and the glaring, glowing array of magic circles, twirling lazily on the wall. Sometimes, Eloïse wondered how the fuck the mundane never noticed a thing.

“That’s a dead end,” Ethan informs her snottily, and Eloïse can’t help but roll her eyes.

“Odo il fafen lap ge,” she whispers in Enochian, and the glyph flares to life, brighter yet, now finally visible to the vampires before her, and vanishes. Black starts oozing from between the tightly-packed bricks, quickly pooling and forming an archway, opening straight to the other side. Eloïse turns to gobsmacked Ethan. “Yes,” she purrs, “it’s a very dead end.”

He scoffs, but obediently follows her and everybody else. The streets behind the portal are exactly the same as the ones within the city proper. There’s no Diagon Alley vibe, no hazardously stacked boxes, no witches in pointy hats and robes. If a mundane somehow walked in here, initially they wouldn’t notice a single odd thing. Clean pavements, well-kept road, street lined with buildings from each side, regular lamps. Some stores are still open, cratering to the creatures of the night. A normal-looking café that Eloïse could see through the window was manned by a wasp-winged fairy with chitin arms and side-shaved hair, an elf and a lamia in a side alley next to the plant shop were having a cigarette break, a four-armed Shiva was milling around a werebear’s fur coat in barber’s shop.

A perfect, anticlimactic mixture of modern and magical, like everywhere else in the world. The vampires look around curiously, but otherwise don’t react, mindful of Eloïse’s warning. She sincerely doubts they will be as well-behaved when they finalize the registration.

Ivan looks like he wants to run to the first next shop window and ogle the contents, but he composes himself. Instead, he falls into step with Eloïse and asks; “what was that you said? That spell?”

“It wasn’t a spell, I simply asked the glyph to open the door for me,” Eloïse explained easily. “A lot of magic is done by simply asking the power to do a thing for you.”

“Any language?” the boy presses on, and Eloïse can’t really help but humor him. She’s always been weak for kids who genuinely want to learn—just because she never became a teacher didn’t mean she didn’t love sharing her knowledge.

“Well, not any language; there are some stricte-magic ones, like Enochian and Druidic, you can also chant backwards. A lot of now-dead languages are also popular. As long as it’s not in common use and magic recognizes it, you can use it to cast. Personally, I’m quite fond of Sanskrit, although Enochian comes the easiest to me—it’s what I asked for door in.”

“You know Sanskrit? That’s really cool!”

“I do, but it’s not as amazing as you’d think, in the magical world. A lot of people are fluent in two or more dead languages,” she shrugs. “I have a friend who’s really into ancient history, so she knows like five dead languages, on top of three modern ones. Each language she knows has an entirely different alphabet, too.”

It was nice to see Ivan lively, to be perfectly honest. Many young vampires struggled to adapt to their new lifestyle, and if Eloïse’s suspicion was correct, then his turning was more of a tragic accident. He definitely wasn’t comfortable in his skin, so she was glad to distract him, even momentarily. Learning about the magical side of the world often proved to be a good coping mechanism for newly turned occult creatures.

“I was always interested in the occult,” Ivan admits, but then frowns unhappily, and grits out: “I didn’t ask to become a vampire, though.”

“Tragedies strike everyone,” Eloïse says. “The key is to find silver lining in everything,” she grumbles, looking back at the rest of the peanut gallery. Problem children all bristle like one.

“I hate you,” Beliath hisses indignantly upon catching her meaning, and Eloïse chuckles.

The remaining five were oddly quiet during her conversation with Ivan; Aaron and Raphael don’t even pretend they weren’t listening in, unlike the problem children. As much as they refuse to admit it, they have grown ignorant in their self-imposed isolation, and any shred of information makes them a bit more prepared to exist as members of society. They’re also calm, because for all the awful first impression they made on Eloïse, they aren’t actually that stupid as to make a scene in a place where everyone can kill them.

It’s kind of surprising that none of them tried to call her out on fooling them just to be contrary, but Aaron and Raphael must have taken them on the side and explained some things beforehand. For now, they’re just looking around curiously, some with more curiosity than others. Ethan looks somewhat disappointed.

Finally they reach an official-looking building at the end of the street, and go in. The entrance looks perfectly ordinary, save for the fact that the reception is manned by a tall girl with green hair in a tight bun and pointy ears. And elf, judging by the sculpt of the face, probably a pureblood. A bit surprising to see them in the ‘lowly stations of public service’.

If there was a race that embodied a cardinal sin, then it was elves with their pride, even more than dragons with their greed. When, a little over a hundred year ago, they awoke to a nasty surprise of a rapidly changing world, for which they were woefully unprepared, they were forced to finally come off their high horse and come down to live in the real world, with the real people. From then on, they would constantly complain that other races didn’t like them.

But then, how could they be liked? People who were so arrogant it bordered on narcissism, who thought that world owed them something and did nothing but whine when it didn’t bend to their whims were never going to be very popular.

Younger elves were adapting, but the older ones were written off as a lost cause. Even integration of vampires into society wasn’t that bad.

Eloïse is ripped out of her thoughts when they walk up to the desk, and the receptionist sees her. Girl’s eyes go wide.

“Ah, hello, I-“

“Lady Kerrigan!” the girl yelps, all but jumping. “I can’t believe it’s actually you! I am such a great fan of your theories! I heard you were moving in this town, but I didn’t think I’d actually meet you! I have read all parts of your ‘A Detailed Guide to Alchemy’!”

The elf is young, and physical age is often deceptive with elves, but her aura is fresh and youthful and a bit innocent, so she can’t be older than fifty. One of the young elves who were born to this merged world and have much less trouble adapting to it, probably a young witch taking a gap year to save up some money before entering a proper specialized studies or apprenticeship. Her eyes are bright and Eloïse, as always, finds herself frozen like a deer in the headlights when faced with an eager fan. There is a damn good reason as to why she remains a private person, and it’s mostly because of how awkward she is with fans.

“That is very nice,” she says, not very eloquently.

“When I was youngre, I wanted to branch into battle magic,” the girl prattles on, “but I don’t really have talent for any destructive schools. But you make Alchemy so easy to understand in your books, and I feel like I actually have a shot thanks to them, even if it’s a difficult subject!”

Eloïse isn’t at all surprised the girl gave up battle magic; elves are grounded in nature, balanced and nurturing and rarely destructive. Battle magic is much more suited to the volatile, high-energy, but shorter-lived races, like humans or beastfolk.

“What the fuck?” one of the vampires, probably Ethan but she can’t be sure, asks behind Eloïse, and the receptionist blinks, and gasps, before her face goes red.

“Oh my gosh I am so, so sorry! That was so unprofessional of me,” she hastily apologizes, horrified and red on her face. Eloïse chuckles, shaking her head.

“No, it’s fine. I know one can get a bit starstruck when meeting their idols. I’m just glad that my little side project is inspiring young people to enter the Alchemical field. God knows there’s not many of us true Potion Masters left.”

“Everyone prefers easier job paths. Or the less potentially lethal ones,” the girl chuckles nervously. “But, um, back to what you’re actually here for—my name is Carlana Pasys, receptionist here at Rowan’s Cross Magic Committee Office Branch. How may I help you?”

"I’ve decided to rent out rooms to the gentlemen behind me,” Eloïse lies through her teeth, because that’s not true, she didn’t decide shit, she was bribed into it against her will. “I need that on paper, since they’re vampires.”

“You’ll find the Populace Register Bureau on the second floor, room 2.17,” Carlana says without a stutter, and then bows slightly. “I bid you successful business.”

“Thank you,” Eloïse tell the girl and moves past her and towards the stairs. They find the room on the second floor easily, and file into the room, greeted by a male faun sitting behind the desk.

“Lady Kerrigan, I assume?” he asks, having taken one look at Eloïse, and she just nods. “Yes, it’s obvious by your sheer power level and those silver eyes, but one must be sure. One Beatrice Kerrigan was here yesterday with a request, I assume you’re here for it?”

“Yes,” Eloïse says, and cann’t help an ashamed blush starting to creep up her cheeks. “I’m terribly sorry for any problems Baba has caused you. She’s… Known to do that.”

“I’m aware,” the faun responds in an almost bored tone. “That woman is an annoyance, but a damn powerful one, and with one hell of a clout to back her up. Now, I assume these are the vampires who skipped their registration?”

“Yes. If you could please rectify that.”

“Well, you are certainly much more palatable than Baba Yaga Lady Kerrigan,” faun musses absentmindedly, standing up and walking over to some metal lockers. They hold folders upon folders of files, and he selects the appropriate ones. “No need to be ashamed of what your insane grandaunt is doing, no?”

“She does reflect on out entire family, sadly,” Eloïse huffs with an unhappy frown. “I wish she were more socially conscious. I’m a bit of a unfriendly hermit myself, so I understand her lack of care, but I’m also not an outright social menace like her.”

The faun hums.

“Also, one of the vampires is a fledgling?” Eloïse tells him, and he stops for a moment to look at her.

“How long since turned?”

“Uhh, around eleven months to my estimate.”

“And sire?”

“Not… Not around,” Ivan interjects, scratching the back of his neck.

“Oh dear,” the faun says. “Lady Kerrigan, would you like to file as his guardian for the time being? Until he fledges.”

“I can do that?”

“Any magical creature that knows how to deal with vampires can do that. You have a pretty extensive section in one of your books about blood alternatives, so I’m assuming you know a bit about vampires yourself?”

“I do. On top of having vampires in the family, I lived with one for extended period of time.”

“Good,” the faun says, returning to searching through the papers. He comes up with five folders he hands to the other vampires, and one each for Ivan and Eloïse. “Please fill in those. If you have questions, I’m here.”

In the end, the registration is very anticlimactic. All they do is fill out the forms, cross-examine them between each other, give fingerprints, shed some droplets of blood at the required places for magical verification, and that’s pretty much it. The faun secretary (his name is Shaun Peters, Eloïse learns, and he’s Welsh, which he’s pretty adamant about stating) magically makes copies of their forms, and puts the copies into a transmutation device (useful things that were invented some twenty years ago, not too long after digital printers) that turns their filled forms into plastic ID’s, perfectly usable in both the magical and the mundane world. Eloïse, having never worked in any government position, doesn’t quite know how it works, just that it does.

 “The ID will remain valid for a decade, you have thee date printed on,” Shaun tells them in a bored tone. “Once it’s up, come back here to re-register. Don’t commit crimes, yadda, yadda, you know the drill.”

“Yes, yes,” Ethan waves his hand flippantly, pocketing his card.

“Also,” Shaun says, standing up from his seat and narrowing his goat eyes. “Kerrigans have done an awful lot for this community. They’re one of the Thirteen Great Families, and deservingly so. Let this be a friendly warning from me on your new path of life—do not cause Lady Kerrigan trouble. We will know.”

“We?”

“The community. We can live in this place, in modernity, with all these commodities, due to their influence and sacrifice, and all the money they’ve pumped into this place. Don’t moronically cause harm to yourselves by causing Lady Kerrigan trouble is all I’m saying.”

“I’m starting to think more and more that she’s some real big fish,” Ethan whispers to Beliath conspirationally. Shawn snorts, and so does Eloïse. They share a look, and the faun nods at her, and she nods back. It’s nice to be remembered, she decides. It’s nicer still to know that, at least, the magical community knows of the sacrifice her family made to keep the world as everyone knows it going. And the money. Them remembering the investments is nice, too, although less important.

Ars Goetia and the Apocrypha Gate debacle was a fucking mess that claimed a lot of lives all those years ago. It claimed three Kerrigans, and almost took two more. All because some power-hungry asshole wanted to summon demons to do his bidding.

“Oh, you have no idea,” Shaun snorts at the two vampires. “Now out of my office.”

Before long, they find themselves on the street, and as much as Eloïse is itching to return home, there’s at least one more matter to take care of.

“Alright children,” she claps her hands, garnering attention of the vampires who, emboldened by their status as people and not cattle for slaughter, started looking around more animatedly. She can’t have them walking off—just because they can’t be murdered on the spot anymore doesn’t mean they’re allowed to pick fights, and should they pick one anyway, they would find themselves vastly outgunned by simplest street vendor. “Since you’ve been good, you deserve aa reward. Follow me.”

“Where are we going?” Vladimir asks in a tone that implies that he’d like to argue, but still obediently follows.

“Grocery shopping,” Eloïse says.

There was a plainest looking Tesco at the end of the street they came from, smack-dab on the opposite side from the office building, standing out like a sore thumb, an offensive concrete slab with massive windows and red letters above it, surrounded by paved parking. The most mundane supermarket one could think of on their side of English Channel.

“You’re kidding, right?” Ethan snorts.

“A supermarket?” Baliath cackles. “You’re taking us to a supermarket?”

“Well, if you’d rather starve…” Eloïse shrugs.

“We’ll starve without blood no matter what you do,” Ethan snaps. Eloïse looks at him like maybe he’s a bit brain-damaged.

“What the fuck else would we be buying there?” she asks. “Soup?”

There’s a beat of silence. The problem children blink at her in confusion, as if buying blood at the supermarket is something special.

“You can buy blood in a supermarket?” Ivan asks.

“In a magical one,” she answers.

“But don’t you need, I don’t know, some special dealer? Or something?”

“About quarter of magical creatures requires blood in their daily diet. Is it really that farfetched to assume that, since it’s a common food item, it’s going to be available in the supermarket?”

“All this time,” Ivan mutters. “I could’ve just—jumped to Tesco for ten minutes, grabbed couple of blood bags, and been on my merry way?”

“Yes.”

“…huh.”

“This is bullshit!” Ethan cries. “You—I—There’s no way you can actually buy blood in the supermarket!”

One could, in fact, buy blood in the supermarket, Ethan found out couple of minutes later, as he found himself staring dumbly at the fridges with glass doors, and shelves lined with blood in various packages. There were traditional IV-like plastic bags, there were bottles, even cartons with straws. They were all labelled, too—the race of the donor, the blood type, age. It even had expiry date printed on.

“What is ‘Scarlet Oak Sap’?” Ivan asks, the only one truly unfazed by the sight, as he inspects the bottles. “It looks like blood.”

“Scarlet Oak is a type of magically mutated oak that vampires cultivated after the wars,” Eloïse explains, something she feels she’ll do a lot as she introduces the vampires to the world they should already have been immersed in for years. “Instead of typical sap, it produces a very close imitation to human blood. A friend tells me it tastes a bit herby, though.”

Ivan puts two bottles in his basket as the novelty wears off and the other five shake out of their stupor and slowly meander to the shelves to inspect the produce themselves.

“Grade B Natural Product, twenty-nine years-old human male?” Aaron asks. Despite his initial knowledge about the magical world, he must have removed himself from it quite a while ago. Blood Grading System was in operation of almost two centuries now, although it has been refined about fifty years ago.

“That’s the donor physical information. Grades are from F through S, although only D through A are commercially available.”

“Why S and F aren’t then?” he questions.

“S grade is the highest available, and regular folk just aren’t able to afford it for daily meals. Kind of like you wouldn’t just buy wagyu beef and truffles for dinner, if you understand comparisons to human food. If you want to splurge every once in a while to impress someone with a super fancy dinner, then you go for S Grade. F grade on the other hand, is just plain rancid, be it by toxins or disease. My blood, for example, is F grade. You wouldn’t want to drink that, would you?”

“Ew,” Ivan gags, remembering the warding room situation.

“Do they seriously have chicken blood?” Beliath demands, looking at the shelves as if they offended him.

“And goat, and cow, and pig,” Eloïse shrugs, walking over to the shelves herself. Maybe she could get William a treat while she’s at it. “To be honest, as long as it bleeds, you can find samples of everything. See? There’s some small packs of snake, here’s what fish they have… Wait, is that beaver? Huh, and I thought Lizzie was making fun of me before.”

“They have rat blood!” Ethan yelps, sounding very offended.

“Yes, yes, a minute of silence for your brethren,” Eloïse tells him without even looking his way. He still hisses at her, even more offended.

“F,” is all Ivan says as he puts a large bottle of deer blood into his basket.

“Synthetic blood?” it’s Vladimir’s turn to ask.

“Not all blood in the store is natural,” Eloïse shrugs. “There’s couple of types. There’s manufactured synthetic blood, there are a few ways to create blood-like potion with alchemy graded based on oh rich in magic they come out. There are substitutes like Scarlet Oak Sap. If all you’ve ever drank is human blood, then I’m afraid you’ve terribly limited yourselves. I’ve heard it’s neither that awfully tasty, nor particularly nourishing.”

Beliath looks at her as if considering something, and then looks away, at the blood packs, glaring at them. Didn’t he say that he couldn’t heal properly because he didn’t have enough blood? He probably has no clue how to mix blood for the best diet for himself, and chances are his demonic relatives didn’t tell him shit.

Demons do that. Often. They tell you nothing and you have to learn everything yourself, and they just laugh if you fail.

Beliath must have been his family’s laughingstock for quite a while now.

“You’re a demon hybrid, aren’t you,” Eloïse says, and it’s not a question. He still nods jerkily. “It means you probably need more blood than other vampires, since a lot of demons also feed on it. That, or high-quality blood. Hmm. What did Lizzie say was best again? I’m not going to call her since she’s in the middle of an assignment, but… Hmmm. I think she said Minotaur blood was good. Rich in minerals, but not necessarily in magic… But Dragon blood is. You should mix both.”

Beliath ostentatiously doesn’t thank her, but picks the appropriate packets anyway. Eloïse just shrugs. She’ll train the lot of them yet.

She picks up two cannisters of rabbit blood for William, and moves over to the freezers, where she picks out a box of eighteen blood pops. She’ll hide them in an icebox under a stasis charm, and give them to the vampires if they behave well.

She has to train them somehow, and positive reinforcement, although tedious, has yet to fail caretakers in need. Chances are they won’t even notice the conditioning.

(She has a feeling that Ivan will be the one to get rewarded the most.)

She gets a text midway that makes her smile. She packs more blood into her basket, and another box of blood pops.

Now, Eloïse is perfectly aware that feeding a household of six vampires is going to be expensive, something she’ll have to call Baba about, because that airhead must have forgotten that not everyone is her and people generally can’t survive off of absorbing magic from he air, and so set no budget for food. That, or force the guys to get jobs, that could also work.

One thing was for sure—Eloïse might’ve been rich, but she had no obligation to support six grown men, perfectly capable of earning their own money, out of her own pocket, and she sure as hell wasn’t going to be doing that.

Well, maybe she’d help Ivan out. He wasn’t even twenty and hasn’t been turned for long, and even Eloïse hasn’t started working until she was thirty and done with her apprenticeship.

Back to the checkout—blood was expensive. Not as expensive as people would assume, as it was a common food, much like bread or vegetables, but it didn’t come quite that cheap either. By the time they were done, each vampire had enough blood to probably last them a month, and Eloïse was glaring at the very offensive number at the cash register.

“You take children shopping,” she growls, “and it will inevitably end like this.”

The offensive number blinks offensively at her.

“Card or cash?” the amused cashier asks, shaking her out of stupor.

“Do you have CHAPS function?” she asks instead.

“Sure,” the cashier chirps. He looks like an ordinary human working the night shift, but she can see hie eyes blinking gold every once in a while, and his teeth are a bit pointy when he speaks. A shifter of some sort, most likely a werewolf.

Eloïse pays the offending price, and they’re on their merry way. Each vampire carries their own selection of blood in very normal-looking, opaque Tesco plastic bags. It’s all incredibly mundane, really.

“Why did you buy blood?” Raphael asks, and Eloïse might’ve startled a little at him. He’s been so quiet the whole trip, she forgot he was there. How did he even know? Either Aaron told him or he was able to sense it. Interesting.

“My familiar feeds on blood,” she just says.

“I̊̆͞ l̓̎̔͡i͌͐̚͞k͊̋̂͠e̽͝ r̾̍͊̋͆͞á͛͛͠b̛͗͌b̏̉̎̈͡i̛̐͋̈̒͐t҇̊̽͋̋,” William pops out of her shadow to say, and startle the guys. He cackles as Ethan, Beliath, and Ivan drop their bags in shock, but Eloïse snaps her fingers before the groceries can hit the floor, making them levitate harmlessly.

“William,” Eloïse scolds. “I know money has no meaning to you, but I’d rather you did not ruin an offensively expensive bag of groceries, okay?”

The demonic goat looks at her and she matches his gaze. He turns away first. “P̓̏̆͛͡f͆̾̌̔̕f̛̾̅͆f̊̓͌͗͡f҇͌͋͗f̏́̄͝h̛̒̾.҇͆̓̆̈ S͛̅̋̚͞ŏ̍̈́͝r̀̂͠r̂̃͝y͐̔̉͝.̈̂̾͡”

The rest of the trek home is uneventful, but Eloïse can feel anticipation and excitement bubbling in her as if she were a teenager again with every step she takes closer to the manor. When they are close enough to see it, the vampires, especially Aaron and Raphael, seem to tense up. They’re probably the oldest of the bunch, because soon Vladimir, Beliath, and Ethan, in that order, also grow agitated.

Eloïse pays them no mind, all but jogging the last couple of steps and throwing the door open with magic before she even comes close enough to see it. She drops her bag for William to catch, and steps into the house.

She feels him before she sees him, but she sees him soon enough. He’s standing in the open hallway between the foyer and the kitchen, with his back to everyone, and the vampires instantly start snarling as he enters their line of sight. The newcomer is clad in a dark brown trench coat that reaches to his knees and black pants, and his hair is as white as snow, almost glowing in the dim light of the hallway, choppy and with some strands reaching his shoulders. Hearing the commotion, he turns slowly, first partway, then fully. He’s pale, incredibly so, with regal, inhumanly handsome face, with a mole under left corner of his lip.

His eyes are red, glowing eerily in the dimness surrounding him, slit-pupiled and predatory. He smiles, and it looks almost nice, would have, if it weren’t for the quirk of his lip that reveals two rows of pearly fangs.

The vampires are frozen, like deer in the headlights, stuck between flight and jumping to fight the perceived intruder, protective of their territory but deep down aware that the creature before them is one that could, and would, kill them in an instant, leagues and leagues above their own power. Aaron seems particularly shaken, as if he just met face-to-face with his worst nightmare. He probably remembers the man before them from the Draculean Wars.

Eloïse has no such problem. She just waltzes forward without an ounce of fear, despite one of the vampires attempting to yank her back on instinct.

“Hello, Foxglove,” the man greets her, his laced with unmistakable, genuine fondness. Eloïse smiles at the nickname. She hasn’t hard it in a long time.

“Hello, Euros,” she greets back, and falls into a hug without as much as a falter when he opens his arms. He’s still taller than her. He’ll always be taller than her. “Welcome home.”

She can’t help but melt a little in the familiar comfort of his embrace. She’s missed this, she realizes. The simpler days, the safer days, when she was a stupid child then knew nothing and was protected by everyone around her.

He always brought back those memories.

“I’m back,” the ancient vampire purrs into her hair. “I’ll be staying longer this time, if you’ll have me.”

“Always,” Eloïse says. “It’s your home, too.”

She pretends to not to notice how Euros looks up at the vampires behind her, still frozen, and smirks at them.

Introducing; Euros Lyford!

(made with picrew.me)

Who him? Why is Aaron freaking out? And why is Eloïse suddenly so friendly?